-- and screamed! Logan spun away from her, lifting his blade in time to block Barclay’s strike. Again, the two crossed swords, their faces inches apart.
Lightning flashed in the sky, followed by a tremendous crack of thunder.
“Maybe you can buy your way out of hell,” Logan growled.
“You’ve already sold your soul to the devil,” Barclay spat back. “Bedding your enemy’s daughter.”
Logan pushed off, taking a few steps back from Barclay.
Barclay attacked immediately, swinging for Logan’s head. Logan ducked and whirled, spinning rapidly in a tight circle, bringing his blade toward the Baron’s knees. Barclay angled his weapon down, blocking Logan’s strike.
Logan rose to his full height and glared heatedly at Barclay. A grim determination etched itself into his features. “You have betrayed me,” he said evenly to the Baron. He swung his blade at Barclay and sparks flashed into the air as the hard metals collided.
“You’re an idealistic fool,” Barclay retorted.
“You have tortured and maimed my brother.” The power behind Logan’s strikes intensified. He pushed Barclay back a step under the strength of his blows.
“He’s a stubborn idiot with the brain of a gnat,” Barclay snarled.
“You have threatened and risked the life of my lady,” Logan said through gritted teeth.
“She’s nothing but a whore,” Barclay spat out.
Logan attacked Barclay mercilessly, swinging again and again, forcing the Baron to retreat under his savage onslaught. Then Logan feinted with an over handed blow and Barclay moved to block it. Logan thrust, driving his sword into Barclay’s stomach.
Time froze for a moment, Barclay clutching his sword above his head, Logan holding onto the pommel of his weapon, the blade lodged deep in Barclay’s stomach.
Barclay lowered his head slowly, his eyes filled with disbelief, to stare at the sword buried deep inside him. He lifted his fading gaze to Logan.
Logan grimaced as he pushed the blade deeper into Barclay’s gut.
Barclay pulled his sword down at Logan in one final attempt to kill him. Logan easily sidestepped the swing, and the weapon clattered to the stones of the tower. The impetus sent Barclay forward onto his hands and knees, and Logan stepped to the side to let him fall.
When Solace ran to Logan, he wrapped her in a warm embrace, their gazes locked on Barclay. Barclay managed to push himself over onto his back, gasping for a breath as he moved. His fingers convulsively gripped the handle of the Grey sword buried inside him. Blood soaked through his black tunic and spilled through his fingers. He lifted his eyes to Logan. His lips curled up in a grin, and he opened his mouth to speak. But the only thing that came out was a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes rolled into his head and his body slackened.
For a long moment, everything was still. In the sky above, the falcon circled Logan and Solace. It cawed once and then flew off.
Logan hugged Solace tightly. “It’s over,” he groaned, burying his face in the strands of her silken hair.
The first drops of rain fell from the sky, splashing over Barclay. The cool rain splattered against Logan’s shoulders, and he pulled Solace into the protective shelter of his arms. Suddenly, the sky opened and a heavy downpour drenched the tower, the castle, the lands.
***
Solace stepped into the chapel beside Logan to find many of his men lounging around the pews. Blade straightened upon seeing them, and a bright grin lit his face. “Grey,” he exclaimed happily.
The remaining men stood, rushing forward, enveloping them in a tide of warmth.
“They’ve fled, Logan,” Blade said. “Goliath took some men to make sure they were gone, but most of Barclay’s men were mercenaries. Looks like they didn’t think he was worth dying for.”
Logan slapped Blade on the shoulder. “Good work,” he said, moving through the rush of men.
“Ah! Thank the Lord!”
Solace knew that voice. A feeling of anticipation filled her, and she pushed through the crowd. “Father!” she cried out.
The crowd parted like a curtain before lord Farindale as he rushed toward her. He barely gave her time to acknowledge he was alive, he was real, before he embraced her in a powerful hug.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, holding her tightly.
“No,” she gasped, trembling all over. “I can’t believe it. I thought you were dead.” She held onto him as though at any moment he might disintegrate and disappear from her embrace.
“No, Solace,” he murmured into her hair.
“Father!”
Solace turned to see Beth hobbling into the chapel, working her way past Logan’s friends to where Solace and the others stood. “Oh, Father!” she exclaimed, throwing herself at him. “I thought you would never come!”
Lord Farindale caught Beth in his arms, but did not greet her with the warmth he had greeted Solace. There was a reserve to him that startled Solace. Finally, he set Beth away from him. He looked at her rounded stomach and then back at her face.
“It was horrible,” Beth muttered, burying her face in her father’s tunic.
Lord Farindale exchanged glances with Logan.
Solace looked up at Logan to find his eyes cold and hard.
“You never tried to contact me,” lord Farindale said calmly.
Beth pulled back to look into his eyes. “I -- I couldn’t. Edwin allowed me no visitors. He locked me in my room. I had –”
“I’ve been in the castle amongst the monks for two days now, Beth,” Farindale interrupted. “I saw how you fawned all over him. I saw how you willingly shared your bed with him.”
“It was an act!” Beth shouted. “I had to protect myself!”
Lord Farindale reached into his tunic to pull out a dagger. It was the dagger Logan had found when Graham attacked Solace. It was the dagger Ryder had assaulted Solace with. “I gave this to you before I left,” Farindale said.
“Yes! I recognize it,” Beth agreed. “Where did you get it?”
Farindale’s eyes narrowed. “The man who attacked Solace had it.”
“It was stolen!” Beth shouted. “I swear. It’s been missing for months!”
“Your lies will never again touch my heart,” Farindale said stoically. “Power and greed have always run through your veins. Unlike Solace, you are selfish and unkind. I will take you to a nunnery where you will spend the rest of your days in prayer for your sins.”
“Father! I beg you! I am with child! You can not do this!” Beth pleaded.
Farindale turned his back to her, signaling one of his men to take her away. Her screams echoed in the chapel, slowly fading into silence.
“The sisters will see to her child,” lord Farindale explained in response to Solace’s worried look. “Do not worry.”
Farindale turned a severe gaze on Logan before setting a hand on his shoulder. Solace saw unease spreading over Logan’s face until her father spoke. “I owe you much, son,” Farindale said. “My daughter. My castle. How can I repay you?”
Logan would ask for Castle Fulton, Solace knew. It was what he wanted most of all. And he should have it. He deserved it. A strange, melancholy feeling settled over her.
Logan’s gaze swept his men, who smiled at him in triumph. Finally, his stare settled on Solace.
“Lord Farindale,” Logan said. “There is only one thing I want.”
Solace bowed her head in acceptance.
Logan continued, “I wish to have your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Solace’s eyes widened in surprise and her head snapped up, her gaze locking with Logan’s. A cry of joy bubbled from her lips.
“I should have guessed as much,” Farindale said. “You have my best wishes.”
Solace ran forward, throwing herself into Logan’s arms. He easily caught her, spinning her around, laughing. When her feet hit the ground, she reached up to press a kiss to his lips.
The men chortled, and murmurs of approval echoed throu
gh the chapel.
“Of course,” Farindale added, stilling the joyous moment, “with my daughter’s hand come many responsibilities.”
Logan and Solace turned to him. Solace noticed the sternness in her father’s eyes, and wariness gripped her.
“I’m away at war much of the time. I need someone to protect my daughter, someone to look after her. But I also need someone to see to my lands, my castle. It bequeaths me to have it be my heir.”
“Oh, Logan,” Solace gasped. She turned her gaze up into his joyful face with more passion and relief and gratitude -- and love -- than she had ever felt before.
THE LADY AND THE FALCONER
EPILOGUE
The wind blew Logan’s dark hair about his face as he stood before Fulton’s main gate. He watched with growing sadness as his brother climbed onto his horse. The falcon on Logan’s shoulder fluffed its black feathers and anxiously shifted its stance.
Peter adjusted the patch over his eye before reaching down from his mount and grasping his brother’s arm. “I wish you all the best, brother,” he said.
“I wish you would change your mind,” Logan told him. “You’re more than welcome at Castle Fulton.” Logan paused. “Now that I found you, I don’t want to lose you again.”
Peter studied his brother for a moment. “I think it’s time I see the world,” he finally said, turning his gaze down the road before him. He glanced back once to look at Solace who was leaning against the castle gate, waiting for Logan. He quickly looked away from her. “I can’t stay.”
Logan’s lips set in a thin line. He nodded once. “Good luck,” he said.
“And to you.” Peter then spurred his horse. The animal moved off, trotting down the road that led to the village. And to the wide world beyond.
Logan watched his brother for a long moment. He wondered if Peter had felt this way all those years ago when watching him ride out of the castle to see Farindale’s army. Did he think he would never see me again? Logan wondered.
Solace joined him, and Logan turned pained eyes to her. She already said her good-byes to Peter, and he saw the ache in her gaze mirrored the emotions he felt. She reached up and caressed his cheek.
Suddenly, the falcon on Logan’s shoulder took flight. It soared high into the air, its magnificent wings spread wide to catch the air currents swirling above the castle walls. The bird circled Logan and Solace once. Then a gust of wind seemed to catch it and propel it toward Peter. Logan watched in awe as the falcon circled his brother, before diving to hang in the air just above his head.
Peter swatted at it once. The falcon easily moved out of Peter’s reach, then returned to hover over him again.
Logan looked at Solace, and they exchanged an amazed glance.
“Looks like your guardian angel’s found another troubled soul to look after,” Solace said.
Logan cast a wistful gaze after the falcon.
“You’re going to miss that bird,” Solace said.
“No, I’m not,” Logan objected.
A knowing smile spread across Solace’s face. “Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m not,” Logan insisted.
“Yes, you are.” Solace laughed.
Logan stalked her and captured her wrist, pulling her to him. He stared down into her beautiful green eyes. “I am not.”
Solace smiled.
Logan pressed his lips to hers, stealing her grin. “I’m not,” he whispered.
Solace stood on the tips of her toes and kissed the corners of his lips, his chin, his nose and eyes. “Yes, you are,” Solace whispered huskily, kissing him fully on the lips.
“All right,” he agreed, holding her to his heart. “I am. A little bit.” He would grant her anything just to see her smile.
Solace hugged Logan tightly, and he gazed down at her with adoration. He was the happiest man in all the land. He had everything he ever wanted. And something he never dreamed of... his Solace.
The End
ABOUT LAUREL O'DONNELL
Laurel O’Donnell lives in Illinois with her husband, four children and five cats. She has always enjoyed escaping into the medieval era, including spending a summer interning at the renaissance faire in Wisconsin where she learned to sword fight and recite Shakespeare. Now, she spends her time reading a good book, watching Sam and Dean battle evil in Supernatural, or working on her next novel…
Laurel is the author of numerous medieval romance novels, a medieval romance novella, a vampire romance novel and an urban fantasy series. You can find the full list of her available titles here.
ARUCARD
BARBARA DEVLIN
TITLES BY
BARBARA DEVLIN
BRETHREN OF THE COAST SERIES
Enter the Brethren (Brethren of the Coast 1)
My Lady, the Spy (Brethren of the Coast 2)
The Most Unlikely Lady (Brethren of the Coast 3)
One-Knight Stand (Brethren of the Coast 4)
Captain of Her Heart (Brethren of the Coast 5)
The Lucky One (Brethren of the Coast 6)
Love with an Improper Stranger (Brethren of the Coast 7)
Loving Lieutenant Douglas: A Brethren of the Coast Novella
BRETHREN ORIGINS
Arucard
Demetrius
KATHRYN LE VEQUE’S KINDLE WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK
Lone Wolfe
ARUCARD
PROLOGUE
La Rochelle, France
Friday the Thirteenth, October
The Year of Our Lord, 1307
Hunkered behind a stack of barrels, Templar Knight Arucard de Villiers hugged his sword and prepared to lunge, as King Philip’s guards searched the undercroft. When the pile of casks shifted, he crouched lower and uttered a silent entreaty, as he gazed at his tormentors through a crevice in the mountain of containers. At the age of seven and twenty, he had fought hard for his patron Pope Clement V, and never in his life had he cowered from peril. But desperate circumstances necessitated drastic measures, if he hoped to survive the Crown’s connivance against the warriors of the Crusades.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE
In the dim light of the braziers, he peered at the warrant, which commanded Arucard, along with his brother knights, to surrender for interrogation, regarding unfounded accusations of heresy, sorcery, and unspeakable acts of sexual perversion, the whole of which were false. But he knew too well the true motives upon which the malicious conspiracy had been launched, and it had naught to do with the heinous claims. Rather, King Philip needed money, and he craved ownership of the vast Templar treasure.
“It is as I told thee, good sir.” Arucard’s marshalsea on land and second in command on sea, Pellier bowed. “My lord departed on Thursday last, and he never returned.”
“Merde.” The soldier gritted his teeth. “Then I suggest thou vacate the premises, at once, as His Majesty hereby confiscates these properties, forthwith.”
“Of course.” Again, Pellier made his obedience. “If we might have enough time to gather our personal effects, given a handful of servants remain in residence, we shall leave the keep to thy good service.”
“Thou mayest have until the morrow.” The guard dipped his chin, gave the vaulted cellar a final cursory glance, and then directed his men. “Let us ride for Moncel Abbey.”
From the safe haven of his hiding place, Arucard smiled, because Morgan, the lord of Moncel, along with Geoffrey and Aristide, had retreated to his ship at dawn and already should have cast off for the prearranged meeting point, northwest of the Golfe de Gascogne. Soon, Arucard would withdraw to join his hunted brothers, as they sailed the Channel and sought asylum in England, whither Edward II had outlawed torture.
The estimable empire may reject the once esteemed Order of great men, but it could offer sanctuary. And if his brothers could find a new supporter, their legacy, along with their necks, would persist. It was with that thought in mind that he sheltered, despite a deep-seated desire to fight—to defend the honor of his brethr
en, present and past.
“My lord, they art gone.” Grunting and groaning, Pellier removed three empty barrels, so Arucard could emerge from the haphazard refuge. “And we should make haste to the docks, given the royal patrol executes Philip’s decree, as thou were warned. Wherefore didst thou not flee when thee first learned of the scheme?”
“Because we needed to give our brothers a chance to elude the Crown. Didst thou deposit the gold for our citizens who have chosen to stay in France?” In the kitchen, Arucard assessed the remaining stores. “If they art careful, they can subsist for years, to come, on the profits from their trade, as I will no longer be able to protect them.”
“Indeed, sir.” With a sigh, Pellier frowned. “My father vows to oversee the funds, in order to preserve the village, in thy absence.”
“Art thou sure thou dost wish to journey with me, my friend?” How Arucard loathed separating his men from their families, which is wherefore he asked only the unmarried seamen to join him, as they risked everything to avoid persecution by association. “As thou could always grow a beard and take up farming or the smithy.”
“Beg thy pardon, my lord.” Pellier opened his mouth, closed it, and then grinned. “Thou dost joke, sir.”
“I do.” However inappropriate, given the gravity of the circumstances, he could use a little levity, at the moment. “Now let us away, as we have no time to spare.”
The back hall led to the scullery, which egressed to the yard and the gardens, whither Arucard often engaged in weapons practice. In the cool evening air, as dew kissed the lawn, he strode the path and climbed the rise, which opened to the grove, whither his destrier, Pellier’s rouncey, and the sumpter horse loaded with Arucard’s few intimate belongings had been tied to the trees.
Gaining his mount, he steered for the muddy road, which had deteriorated after the previous day’s heavy rains, to the port. On normal occasions, normal being the dearth of troops out for his head, Arucard would have carried a torch to illuminate the route, as the sun set on the horizon, but he could ill afford such luxury, so he maintained a slow but steady pace. When they reached the hilltop, he reined in to take one last look at his home, which he suspected he would never enjoy again.
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