Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)
Page 92
He dropped her hands as if the mere touch scalded his skin. “You?” His eyes narrowed as he drew back from her. His vision swam before him, his mind incapable of digesting the horrible truth of her words.
“Your father was such a bastard, such a tyrant to his people. A rapist and a killer. I begged my father to stop him. And he did!” Solace explained in clipped words, through clenched teeth.
Logan had heard rumors of his father’s dark methods of tax collecting, of his abuse of his power, but he never believed any of them. No man, especially not his father, his flesh and blood, could be that cruel. He had refused to believe it. “You’re wrong,” he answered vehemently, but there was the slightest quiver in his voice.
“You killed the wrong person!” Solace proclaimed hotly.
Her enraged voice jarred him, cut him. He raised his open palm, ready to smash her face, ready to knock the words from her mouth. He stared into her anger, her desolation. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand. Betrayed. His heart exploded in his chest. He drew his dagger with a howl of rage. “Then it’s you I should kill!” Her bitter accusations rang in his ear. A tyrant. A rapist. A killer. It doesn’t matter, he thought. He was my father and his death deserves to be avenged. He pressed the blade to her creamy throat.
Solace barely flinched. “Yes, do it. You’ve sacrificed everything else.” She choked on her words. “You can’t love. Complete your revenge. Kill me. It won’t bring your parents back.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. He blinked back the anger and the pain swirling in him. Slowly, he dropped his hand, his eyes flashing at her like hot lightning bolts. “Get away from me,” he snarled. “Get the hell out of here.”
Solace reined her horse around and rode away from him without a word.
He stared after her retreating back, a broken man.
***
Solace rode and rode until the horse could go no further. Then she dismounted and anguish engulfed her completely. She had given herself to Logan! She had loved him! And he had destroyed the last of her family. He had used her to get to her father.
She wept into her open palms. He had done more than hurt her. He had destroyed her. Her heart lay broken and bleeding. She sobbed until the sun set.
Then as the sun disappeared over the horizon and the sky turned blood red, a new resolve swept through her. A dark resolve. If Fulton was the only thing Logan could love, then she would see to it that he never got it. I will destroy him as he has me, she vowed. He will never get Fulton. I will see to that.
THE LADY AND THE FALCONER
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The Great Hall of Castle Fulton was awash in easy conversation. A large table had been set aside for the visiting monks. With the Yuletide approaching, the table had slowly begun to fill. Now there were six monks seated there, all eating quietly.
At the main table, Beth sat beside Baron Barclay. She wiped her mouth with the back of her velvet sleeve and cast a sly look at him. He was eating a large mutton leg. She ran a hand possessively over his arm. He raised his eyes to her and smiled, holding the leg out to her. She took a bite of it. Edwin had seen to it she had everything she could possibly want. She often wondered if he was keeping her in case her father returned, as a hostage of sorts. But she knew she was far from that. She reached down and caressed her stomach, swelling with his child. Beth smiled contentedly. She had finally found her place.
Her eyes scanned the Hall. Barclay’s men filled the tables, eating to their hearts’ content. They were a noisy lot, but she found comfort in their presence. With so many men at the Baron’s disposal, she knew the castle was secure.
Beth’s gaze shifted to Edwin again, studying his handsome profile. She often wondered why Barclay had not offered marriage. Perhaps he was waiting for the Yuletide. She could wait. After all, was she not having his child?
She became aware of a growing silence in the Great Hall and turned her head to see two guards escorting a woman up to the front table. Dread slithered up her spine as outrage made her teeth clench.
Barclay rose slowly from his chair. He planted his hands on the table, leaning toward the woman as she stopped just before them.
Her hair was unkempt, her clothing old, the hem of her dress ragged. Besides that, there was something different about her, Beth noticed. The woman’s shoulders sagged, but it wasn’t from weariness. When Solace looked up and locked gazes with her, Beth noticed the resolve and the sadness in her eyes.
Barclay’s lips turned up in a grin. “Nice to have you back, m’lady.”
Beth cast him a sharp, annoyed glance. He had never called her m’lady! She turned burning eyes to her sister.
One of the guards who had escorted Solace stepped forward, and Barclay bent his head as the guard whispered in his ear. His brows furrowed and his eyes turned to Solace in contemplation.
The Baron retook his seat, rubbing his lower lip in thought. “Where’s Grey?” he said.
Beth watched Solace’s eyes cloud. She couldn’t read her expression. “We were in Cavindale. But I doubt he is still there.”
Beth and Barclay exchanged a glance. Barclay waved at one of the soldiers near the door, and the man immediately headed out of the Great Hall.
“Rest assured that if I knew where he was, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you,” Solace added.
Barclay raised an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise, dear?” he wondered, mockingly.
“He killed my father,” Solace said, casting a glance at Beth.
Beth narrowed her eyes. The little harlot was up to something, she was sure. She bent to whisper in Barclay’s ear, “Don’t believe her.”
Barclay surveyed Solace for a long, quiet moment. His sharp, blue eyes assessed every dark line on her face, every clenched muscle. “Then why have you returned to Fulton?”
Solace raised her chin. “To marry you,” she said.
A murmur swept through the room. Beth clenched her fists on the table and almost stood, but Barclay grabbed her arm, holding her down. “Marry me?” He chuckled. “You made it quite clear last time you were here that you would have nothing to do with me.”
“I would do anything to keep Fulton from Logan Grey,” she said. “Even marry you. With Father dead, I am the rightful heir to Fulton. If you marry me, the lands are yours legally and without question.”
Barclay rose and began to move around the table. “That’s a very big price to pay, isn’t it? To keep the lands from Grey. How do I know you’ll make a dutiful wife?”
“I’ve been trained to run Castle Fulton. I know everyone’s positions. I can tally the harvest, stock the pantries...”
Barclay stopped before Solace and smiled wolfishly. “That’s not the duty I was speaking of.”
Outrage rocked through Beth. He was considering it! “Edwin,” she called beneath her breath.
Solace’s chin rose. “I would make you a proper wife, in all ways. You have my word.”
“Prove it,” Barclay whispered.
Solace shifted uncomfortably. Beth watched her wrestle with the dilemma. If that little whore touches my Edwin, Beth vowed, I will kill her with my own two hands.
Solace lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips to Barclay’s.
A hiss issued from Beth. She was on her feet as Solace pulled back.
Barclay smiled. “A rather chaste kiss from a potential bride.” He reached into his belt, drawing forth a dagger, and rested the blade at her throat. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to kill you and marry someone more devoted to me? Like your lovely sister?”
Solace swallowed and pride soared in Beth’s chest. Do it, she silently begged, leaning forward on the table.
There was no fear in Solace’s eyes, only resignation. For a long moment, she said nothing. “The peasants respect me,” she finally said softly.
Barclay glanced at one of his men.
A tremor of dread shot up Beth’s spine. They were having a tremendous amount of trouble with the villagers. They were s
low moving, even under the threat of death. Beth cringed. The villagers held her in no regard. And they liked Barclay even less. But they loved Solace. They would do anything for her.
Barclay resheathed his dagger. “A good point,” he said, and returned to his seat. “I will consider your proposal.”
“Edwin.” Beth gasped in disbelief.
He patted her hand placatingly. “You look weary, lady Solace,” Barclay said. “Beth, go attend your sister.”
Beth inhaled sharply. She wasn’t some servant! She slammed her hand on the table. Barclay caught her wrist. “Easy, my dove,” Barclay whispered. “She is the heir to Fulton, after all. It would be wise to pacify her. At least for the time being.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed. She’d like to pacify her, all right. Right over the castle wall! Beth moved around the table, her back rigid, her fists clenched into tight little balls of fury, until she stood before Solace. She stared into her green eyes, noticing they weren’t so bright any longer. “Let’s go,” she snarled.
Beth whirled, leading her sister through the curious gazes and whispered murmurings spreading quickly through the Great Hall.
“Congratulations,” Solace said tonelessly, glancing at Beth’s stomach.
Beth grunted. Like the little harlot even cared, she thought bitterly. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to her sister. Solace’s clothing was dirty, her hair ragged and unwashed. There were even streaks of dirt on her face, marred with trails from tears. Beth scowled. Solace looked like a peasant, a weepy one at that. “Why have you returned? What do you want?” she demanded.
“I told you and Barclay what I want,” Solace answered softly.
Beth sucked in her breath. “That’s just like you, isn’t it? As soon as I’m interested in a man, you try to steal him away!”
“After we’re wed, you can have him all you want,” Solace retorted bitterly. “I want nothing to do with Barclay, other than make him rightful lord of this castle.”
Beth’s chin rose. “You can die and I can make him rightful heir.”
Solace just stared at her. “I guess that’s up to Barclay now, isn’t it?” She brushed past Beth and continued toward her old room.
***
“Just kill her,” Beth pleaded.
Barclay raised an eyebrow at her as he lounged in his sumptuous bed. He wondered if it was jealousy making her talk so or hatred of her sister.
Suddenly, Beth dropped to her knees, taking his hand in hers and pressing kisses against his knuckles. “Please, darling. She’ll bring us nothing but trouble. We don’t need her.”
Barclay eased his hand from her grip. In truth, he was tiring of the sniveling whore before him. Her enlarging stomach was repulsive to him. He wanted fresh flesh. And Solace fit his fantasy perfectly. A slim, spirited girl he would ride hard and tame. The thought of her struggling beneath him brought a grin to his lips and a bulge to his pants.
“You want her!” Beth exploded as she stood.
“She has her appeal,” Barclay muttered, thinking of her round breasts and her full lips that could suck him dry.
Beth placed her hands on her hips. “What does she have that I don’t?” she demanded.
“Her stomach is flat and smooth.” Barclay took joy in watching the hurt flash in Beth’s eyes. “She doesn’t snivel and whine,” he added, watching Beth’s lips thin in anger.
Beth launched herself at him and Barclay caught her wrists, spinning to pin her beneath him. He chuckled as she tried to lash out at him. “Seems my little hellcat has a little spit left in her after all.” He pinned her arms above her head with one hand, moving to undo his breeches with the other.
A crooked smile formed on Beth’s lips.
***
Solace stared out over her lands, resting her palms on the ledge of her window. The cold wrapped its fingers around her, embracing her in an icy hug.
Logan, she thought again and again. Pain wracked her body as she remembered his smile, the safety she’d felt in his arms. It was all a ruse. It must have been. If he had truly cared for her, how could he have killed her father?
She bowed her head, her eyes narrowing. He would never have Fulton. It would be her final justice. He could go on living his life of anger and bitterness, but he would never have her home again. She tried to raise her chin, tried to tell herself what she was doing was right. It was justice.
Solace bowed her head, weeping into her hands. Then why did she feel so horrible? Why did she feel as though she were ripping her heart from her chest?
***
Flames danced in the hearth, casting the Great Hall in a red glow. Barclay sat in a chair before the fire, waiting for Solace. The warmth of the hearth did not reach his heart, only his loins. He heard the soft patter of footsteps and turned to see his betrothed entering the room.
He was gravely disappointed at what he saw. Her head was bowed, her hands secured by a rope, her shoulders hunched. A defeated woman. When she reached him, she lifted eyes that mirrored infinite sadness. Dark slashes underlined each eye.
Barclay scowled. He wished he could have been there. He wished he could have seen what had transpired to douse that indomitable spirit. Still, he caught a flash in her large green eyes that made him wonder.
“Good eve, lady Solace,” Barclay said smoothly.
After a short moment, Solace thrust her bound hands toward him. “These are not necessary.”
Barclay shrugged slightly. “After your previous escape, I have little choice.”
She lowered her hands in acceptance.
“Come,” he ordered. “Warm yourself by my side.”
She moved, as he commanded, to his side. When he reached out to touch her waist, she was pleasantly pliable. He grinned, wondering if he shouldn’t bed her now before the fight returned to her. No. He liked a woman who fought. “I must tell you what an absolute treat it was to hear you had simply strolled into a village and found my men. I had garrisons of them out patrolling every village from here to London. And my little dove simply walks into my hands.”
Solace stared at the fire. Shadows and light danced across her soft features.
“I must wonder if this is some sort of trap.”
Something crossed her face, a memory, perhaps. “No trap,” she finally replied. “I want you to become rightful lord of Fulton. I want no one to question your claim to these lands.”
“And so they shall not,” Barclay agreed. He took her hand into his own and pressed a hearty kiss to her knuckles. “Shall we say in two weeks time?”
Solace nodded once.
“I would do it at once, but Father Davis insisted we make it a Yuletide wedding,” he encouraged. “That way our union will be doubly blessed.”
***
“Solace, I can’t believe you truly want to wed this man.” Father Davis stood before her, his hands clasped over his large belly, his deep brown eyes staring at her with concern. His voice seemed to echo inside the cavernous chapel. “At least I succeeded in postponing the wedding a few weeks. To give you time to really think about this.”
Solace noticed the elaborate renovations to the chapel. A golden altar had been added, a huge statue of the Virgin Mary. It was those cold, unseeing eyes she met, instead of Father Davis’s. Solace turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself. Before her, a row of cream-colored cherub statues watched her from atop their intricately carved pedestals. And even though the stone angels had empty slits for eyes, she felt disapproving stares emanating from them. She suddenly felt a chill. She had never lied to Father Davis before and she certainly couldn’t do it in the chapel.
“He is one of the most heartless men I have ever met,” Father Davis added.
Solace whirled to him, her back straightening. “Did he hurt you?”
“Me?” Father Davis echoed in surprise. “No. Not me. But I’m certainly one of the few he hasn’t. Have you seen any of the villagers?”
She hadn’t been allowed out of her room for two days. Barclay was
afraid she would run. Finally, she had been escorted to the chapel and allowed to see Father Davis. Three guards were waiting outside to bring her back to her prison of a room when she was done.
“He starves them, Solace,” Father Davis said gently. “He stole the crops when he entered Fulton, and now with the weather getting cold and no food...” Father Davis’s voice trailed off as he bowed his head and shook it. “We pray it will be a mild winter.”
Solace dropped her hands to her sides. The villagers. She was glad she had returned. Perhaps somehow she could get them food. At least the sick ones and the ones with children. “That’s why I’m marrying him. Perhaps I can soften his heart.”
“Child, no one can soften his heart. He lusts for glory on earth and glory in heaven.” Father Davis again shook his head. “He gives gold to the church, but he is cold and merciless. Look what he did to your stepmother.” Father Davis raised Solace’s chin with his finger. “He will show you no kindness.”
A chill of doom slithered up Solace’s spine. “And I ask for none.”
Father Davis shook his head, rubbing his tired eyes. “Do you love him?”
Solace sought desperately for the right answer. “My sister is fond of him.”
Father Davis snorted. “Lady Beth has as much sense as a jackass.”
Solace couldn’t resist a smile.
“It’s good to see you smile, Solace,” Father Davis commented quietly. “Fulton has become a castle of gloom since you left. Tell me of your journeys.” Father Davis moved over to a bench and sat down, patting the stone beside him.
Solace moved to him, sitting next to him.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“To Cavindale,” she replied, glancing down at her slippered feet.
“Cavindale? That’s so far from here! You traveled alone?”
“No.”
She sensed Father Davis studying her face, but kept her eyes averted, running a finger across a gash in the stone bench.
“Who did you travel with?”
A permanent sorrow seemed to sweep her into a cocoon of emptiness. “Logan Grey.”