The Lady and the Falconer

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “The bird inched closer, and I just stared right back. I had to admire the bastard’s courage. I mean, he was close enough that I could grab him and have him for dessert. Then he tried to grab a piece of meat right out from under my nose, but I pulled it away just before he took any. He barked at me like some wild dog, and darted off into the sky.” He paused, then smiled softly, remembering. “He just kept circling and circling while I ate.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Logan shrugged, still unable to understand the bird’s behavior himself. “From that day on, the bird’s always been somewhere close by. I suppose it’s his way of getting revenge... by annoying me until the end of time.”

  Solace was staring at him with rapt fascination. She was so damn beautiful. Who cared about tales of hunting or falcons or prey or supper when she was near? Or revenge, a small voice inside him added. But the voice was so faint now it was easy to ignore its feeble attempt to be heard.

  Suddenly he grabbed her arm, pulling her into the mews. He clasped her against him as he leaned into the wall. “Are you through asking me questions?” he wondered.

  “I –” She opened her mouth to answer, and Logan pressed his lips to hers, hungrily stealing a kiss from her parted lips. He tasted the sweet honey of her mouth, pressing against her, wanting so much more than this. He pulled back from her to gaze into her eyes and saw they were clouded with aroused passion. Her lips were slightly swollen from being kissed so thoroughly. He cupped her chin.

  “Will you come with me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied instantly.

  He chuckled deeply. “You don’t know where I want you to go.”

  She gazed into his eyes with the sultry passion that enflamed his own. “Where do you want me to go?”

  “To my room,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

  “Yes,” she answered, just as quickly.

  Logan took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, before pulling her out of the mews. Together they headed for his room, their steps anxious and hurried.

  A call from the battlements halted them. “We’re under attack!” They both raised startled eyes to the walkway to see a swarm of men battling.

  Around them, chaos erupted, villagers charging for the protection of the keep, merchants shutting their doors and windows against the intruders, mothers screaming for their children! The clang of swords resounded through the ward, the thundering clatter drowning out the panicked cries of the people.

  Logan glanced at Solace and saw the concern etched on her face. She moved toward the stairway that led to the battlements, but Logan pulled her roughly back to him. “You can’t go up there!” he said.

  “I have to,” she answered, her gaze pinned on the walkway.

  Logan grabbed her shoulders, shaking her once, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Those are armed men. Just what do you think you can do?”

  “They’re my men, Logan,” she answered with firm resolve. “I have to see what’s happening.”

  Logan cursed silently. He cursed her honorable dedication. He cursed Farindale’s men. But mostly he cursed the timing. “I’ll go,” he said. A tortured scream ripped through the air, and Logan knew the body count was growing by the minute. “Go back to the keep,” he ordered, releasing her hand and heading for the stairs. “I’ll come for you when it’s safe.”

  Solace moved to obey him. She had taken one step toward the keep when a man fell with a scream over the battlements, to land at her feet. He clutched at a gaping wound in his chest. Blood oozed through his fingers. But it wasn’t the blood that horrified Solace. It was the thought of Logan lying at her feet instead of one of Barclay’s men.

  Her gaze whipped back to the stairs Logan had taken, but he was already gone. Logan! Without a second thought, she raced toward the stairs, chasing after him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Solace skidded to a halt when she reached the battlements. The long walkway was jammed with Barclay’s men and Fulton’s knights, battling desperately with maces and swords and axes. The clashing of weapons and the shouting were deafening.

  Through the crenels of the castle walls, Solace saw a large wooden attack tower pulled up against Fulton’s outer wall. The side of the tower burned, shooting bright orange flames into the air. Solace quickly scanned the perimeter of the walls, looking for another of the siege engines, but she could see none. She had to get help. But where was Logan? Her eyes frantically searched the walkways, the fighting men, but she couldn’t see him.

  Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm, spinning her around. Peter gazed at her with concern. “What are you doing up here? Never mind,” he quickly amended. “Get out of here.”

  But Solace didn’t move; she wanted to help, but was unsure of what to do. She watched Peter brush by her with a small garrison of guards. She backed slowly away, walking down the stairs, heading to the courtyard. She hadn’t taken more than two steps into the ward when she spotted a man in armor looking around near the mews.

  Solace ran toward him, but as she came closer and he turned toward her, she realized with a jolt that he was one of Barclay’s men. She stopped abruptly, but her foot slid on loose gravel and she lost her balance, landing her on her bottom. She quickly turned over and pushed herself to her feet.

  The soldier’s arms closed around her from behind.

  Solace struggled and opened her mouth to scream, but his gauntleted hand rose before her, clutching a dagger, silencing her protest.

  “Let her go.” The powerful voice issued forth from the deep shadows near the wall.

  Solace looked up to see a shifting shadow, then a solid wall of man as Logan materialized from the darkness like a phantom. He held a large piece of wood before him, gently pounding his open palm with it. He moved toward them with deadly intent, his look dark and foreboding.

  Suddenly, the soldier whipped the dagger at Logan, its sharp tip moving toward his neck with the speed of an arrow. At the last moment, Logan lifted the wood and the dagger slammed into it, imbedding itself deep in the plank.

  Barclay’s man whirled away, pulling Solace toward the stairs. Two more of Barclay’s men appeared from the stairs to block Logan’s path, swords in hand. Logan did not even hesitate; he kept coming, weaponless but for a stick of wood, his face twisted into a grimace of loathing.

  Solace threw a desperate look over her shoulder to see one of the intruders swing. Logan easily deflected the blow with the wood, quickly swinging the plank around to knock the soldier in the jaw, sending him sprawling backward. Then Logan whirled with the agility of a cat and blocked a blow from the second soldier. The sword stuck in the wood, and Logan punched the man in the face, sending him to the ground. “Damn fool, Barclay,” Logan muttered.

  Logan continued after them, undaunted. He came at them like a storm cloud, steady and sure of his path. Suddenly, there were voices and Solace raised her head to see five more of Barclay’s men running down the stairs.

  Her captor bent to scoop up a fallen sword from the ground. Solace took the opportunity to lurch away, but he reached out, catching her hair in a fist. He yanked her back against him, pressing the tip of his sword to her neck.

  Logan paused, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

  Solace knew she had to free herself. How could Logan stand against five men?

  “Solace!” a voice cried from the stairs.

  Solace shifted her eyes, afraid to move her head for the pressure of the sword against her throat, and saw Peter leaping over the stone rail of the stairs. Distracted, the soldier eased the pressure of the blade against her neck. She raised her hands and pushed the sword from her throat, lurching forward to escape.

  Logan caught her easily, and set her behind him, using his body as a shield. Peter reached Logan’s side, putting his shoulder to Logan’s, his sword poised.

  Standing side by side, Peter and Logan were like a wall; Solace could see nothing beyond their thick shoulders. They were exactly the same height and build. She could hear the c
lash of metal against metal as Peter engaged an enemy.

  As he moved, Solace caught glimpses of Barclay’s men around them. Logan was dodging the blows with a grace and agility that belied his large frame. They fought with unerring accuracy, Peter with his sword, Logan with the piece of wood. Suddenly, a soldier lunged and Logan swiped at the sword with his makeshift weapon, sending the blade spinning off into the air.

  Then Solace’s view was blocked again as the remaining soldiers moved in. She pressed herself against the wall, the clang of metal and the bang of the wood ringing out in the air.

  Suddenly, one of the soldiers broke away and raced through the courtyard, charging toward the gatehouse. Logan took a step forward, ready to bolt after him, but then stopped, letting him go. It was Peter who broke off from the fight and dashed after Barclay’s man, shouting for Fulton’s archers to cut him down.

  Some of Fulton’s own troops moved in to join the fight, quickly finishing off the remainder of the invaders. Solace spotted Captain Montgomery leading them. “Captain!” she shouted, gaining his attention.

  Logan grabbed Solace’s arm and held onto her, pulling her quickly toward the keep.

  “Is the castle secure?” she called, resisting Logan’s attempts to get her away from the scene of the battle.

  “Yes!” Montgomery shouted back. “We were ready for them! Only twenty men got over the wall. We burned the siege engine!”

  Logan walked briskly forward, and Solace had to quickly pick up her pace to match his.

  As they reached the keep, Solace noticed that the sounds of battle were now suddenly gone, replaced by an eerie silence. As her heartbeat began to slow, she realized she was trembling all over. She turned her gaze to Logan.

  He paced the doorway, his hands on his hips. His muscles bunched and released beneath a sheen of perspiration. He flung the wood aside, mouthing a silent curse.

  Solace reached up to swipe a strand of hair from her forehead, but before her hand touched her hair, she noticed a red drop trailing a path down her arm onto her sleeve. Curious, she turned her palm over and gasped. Blood was dripping over the side of her palm, oozing from a slash mark in the center. She turned her other hand over to see blood pool in her cupped palm. With this discovery came an onslaught of pain.

  Logan seized her wrists in his hand, studying the wounds on her palms. “What happened?” he asked her gently.

  “It must have been when I pushed the soldier’s sword away.” She watched the blood drip through her fingers. “Am I going to die?” she asked. She had treated many wounds, but seeing her own blood sent her mind reeling. Darkness edged her vision.

  The question brought a grin to Logan’s lips. “No. Far from it.”

  He gently pulled her with him, leading her back to the mews. She half-heartedly tried to pull away from him. “I should make sure the castle is secure,” she said, looking toward the battlements.

  “The fighting is over,” he replied. “Castle Fulton is safe, for now.” He opened the door to his chambers and gently pushed her back onto his mattress of hay. Then he bent over the sack near the table and pulled something from the interior before turning to her. He knelt before her and took her hand into his, carefully wiping the wound and then wrapping a fresh cloth around her cut.

  Solace raised her eyes to study his face -- his bronze skin, kissed by the sun, his long lashes, his perfect features, his dark, wavy hair. She could gaze at him all day and feel peaceful and contented. And yet something was bothering her. The way he fought... he was no falconer. He was as good, if not better, than Peter -- with just a piece of wood. Could he have been a knight at one time? Did he have training? She knew she should be cautious when it came to dealing with him, that she didn’t really know him.

  He finished bandaging her palms and stood, guiding her up with him. They found themselves just barely touching. She could feel the heat emanating from him, and it filled her own body. His look was lidded, as if he had just awoken from a pleasant dream.

  But then, she realized, she had never known a man better.

  He lingered near her. She could feel his breath on her lips as she lifted her gaze to his. He was looking at her as if she were a rare delicacy to be slowly enjoyed. A blush crept up her neck to her cheeks.

  Logan ran a finger along her jaw, a grin twitching the corners of his lips.

  Solace smiled, playing with the edge of his tunic near his neck. He lowered his mouth to hers and gently kissed her lips, then pulled back slightly and his mercury eyes filled her vision. His hand slid over her shoulder to her nape and tilted her head up, exposing her slender neck. He dropped a kiss there, and she swore she could hear a guttural groan as he trailed a path of playful nibbles to her jaw and across her lips. When he claimed them again, his kiss was full of burning need, branding his desire on her skin.

  Logan pressed his lips against hers, hotly, feverishly, drinking of her sweet innocence, promising things to come.

  Solace responded to his kiss with a need of her own, her hands pulling him close. She pressed herself against him and a soft groan issued from deep within her.

  He pushed her back against the wall, his hands kneading her breasts. The flame within her grew until it was a roaring bonfire. She ran her hands down his strong back, marveling at the strength, the power of him. She needed him so desperately that she wanted to cry. She wanted him to fill the aching, lonely part in her life. Solace pulled him closer, whispering, “Logan.”

  He lifted her dress and touched her leg, caressing the smooth length of it. His palm was so hot against her skin. She grew anxious for his touch, for their bonding.

  Boldly, she reached down and cupped his manhood. Shocked, he grabbed her hand, halting her movement. “Brazen hussy,” he growled playfully, a sly grin curling his lips. He looked her in the eye, a smoky brilliance dancing in the secret depths of his gaze.

  He moved her hand over his bulge, and it grew hard and stiff at her touch. The magical member that had driven her to heights she had never known responded to her touch like a live animal. “I want to see it,” she whispered.

  Logan pulled her tight against his rock-hard chest. “God’s blood, woman!” he said in a light voice that was somehow deep and primeval. “Where did you learn to be so forthright?”

  “Well, I –”

  “Then release it,” he murmured, pulling back.

  Solace’s eyes scanned him. She stepped forward, barely able to keep her hands from touching every inch of him. She reached out to clutch his tunic and lifted it over his head, revealing his hard chest muscles. She glided her fingertips over his skin, over his naked torso, from the very edges of his shoulders, down to the tops of his leggings. She admired the smoothness of his skin, the utter perfection of it, until her exploration brought her to a ragged scar that stretched from the bottom of his ribs to his leggings. “What happened?” she gasped.

  “I was careless and didn’t guard my back,” he replied, directing her hands to the laces that held up his leggings.

  Solace pulled the strings and his leggings slid from his body like a cloth falling away to reveal the masterpiece that lay hidden beneath.

  His legs were strong and lined with well-defined muscles. His member stood straight and when her hand accidentally brushed it, he hissed with enjoyment.

  “It’s so... big,” she whispered in awe. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked the tip with her fingertip. It jumped at her touch and she almost laughed.

  Logan grabbed her by the elbows. “You won’t think it’s funny when it’s inside you,” he promised huskily. “My turn.”

  His arms reached around her, and his hands deftly undid the buttons that lined her back. He pulled the houppelande from her shoulders and pushed it down her waist until it pooled on the floor in a cloud of blue velvet. Logan’s gaze devoured her from head to foot as she stood before him in nothing but her chemise.

  Solace felt the desire grow inside her at his mere gaze. She reached out to him, but he caught her wrists and
gently eased them back to her sides.

  Logan lifted his hands to place his fingertips at her cheeks and traced the curves of her face, moving them down her cheekbones, over her chin and down her neck. He leaned close to her, and heated kisses followed his touch, flitting over her already-burning skin, sending sensations of pulsating passion flowing through her.

  Logan unlaced the chemise and slowly pulled it down her bare skin, sliding it over her breasts. The cloth grazed her nipples, and she felt a flash of heat between her legs. He gazed at her breasts in absolute admiration. “Lord, they’re perfect” he gasped, reaching up to cup them. They filled his hands and he began to stroke them, stoking the fire that was already ignited inside Solace. His thumb ran over a nipple and then again, encircling the precious peak in slow, undulating circles.

  Solace groaned softly, delighting in the sensual torture.

  Logan lowered his lips to one of her mounds, his tongue circling the nipple as his thumb had done. His hands eased the chemise over her flat stomach and down her hips until it fell away from her body and she stood before him, naked.

  He stared at her for a long moment, his reverent gaze sweeping her body, lingering with heated intensity at her breasts. Solace felt his stare searing through her, and every fiber of her yearned for him, for his touch, his caress.

  Finally, after what seemed like torturous hours, he pulled her to him, claiming her lips in an urgent plundering of her mouth. His hand cupped her buttocks before moving around her hips to gently graze her velvety-soft curls. Solace groaned and thrust toward him. He eased his finger down her forest of curls, and spread the petals of her womanhood, searching for the bud that would release her ecstasy. When he discovered it, Solace felt a sharp stab of rapture spear her body.

  “Tell me you like it,” he whispered into her ear, teasing her skin with his teeth.