Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  Suddenly, she was pulled up... into the arms of the falconer! His gray eyes stared intensely at her for a moment, and strangely, the look calmed her racing heart. Then, he pulled her after him, grabbing a large wooden half-barrel and dumping the water out as he moved. Before she knew what was happening, he shoved her against a building and lifted the barrel before them as a protective barrier. She jumped as an arrow slammed into it, its metal tip erupting through the wood inches from her face! She stared at the sharp, deadly arrowhead for a long moment, fear closing around her heart in an iron grip. She turned a terrified gaze to the falconer.

  He threw the useless half-barrel to the ground and pressed her back against the wall, shoving her there with his body. Solace pressed her cheek against his chest and squeezed her eyes closed as he cocooned her head in his arms. She heard the quick beating of his heart, felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. Her fingers curled into his tunic, clenching it tightly in her trembling fists.

  Loud thunks sounded to her left and right.

  Then the falconer pulled away from her. He grabbed her arm and bolted for the inner ward. Solace couldn't match his large strides. If he hadn't been holding her arm, she would have stumbled and fallen. Finally, they dashed inside the inner ward and the gates closed behind them.

  Dorothy ran up to Solace, crying, “M'lady! Are you all right?”

  The falconer released Solace's arm, and as she turned to thank him, he melted into the shadows. Solace opened her mouth, but a protective crowd of peasants encircled her, cutting her off from him. Her gratitude went unspoken. She anxiously searched the darkness near the wall, but the falconer was gone.

  Logan watched the peasants convene around Solace. Like bees to honey, he thought. At least she was all right. He was surprised that his own concern for her felt genuine.

  He turned away and moved toward the mews. The falcon floated down from the skies to perch again at his shoulder. He knew that eventually he'd have to seek out the lady Solace and somehow gain her confidence. But he would have to tread carefully. Suspicions were running high since the dungeon guard was found slain. Even old Ben had been looking at him strangely. He would have to wait a few more days.

  It will give me time to think, Logan thought. Perhaps too much time.

  The image of long dark hair, a defiant upturned chin and shapely body rose in his mind. He cursed silently. Why did Solace have to be so damned... He shook his head fiercely. She was the enemy. She was a Farindale. Still...

  Fool, he berated himself. He knew he had risked enough by opening the gates for her. And then, later, he had been ready for a fight, waiting for the castle guards to come and imprison him. But it had not happened. Somehow, lady Alissa had not seen fit to have him clapped in irons for disobeying her direct command. Somehow...

  He entered the courtyard that housed the mews. Old Ben had the door to the small house that sheltered his prize birds open and was sweeping out droppings and uneaten bits of food. Logan turned and moved toward his small room which was attached to the mews, hoping he could sneak by old Ben. But the man turned to him, calling out. Logan winced. The old man had the blasted hearing of a falcon.

  “Out strollin' about again, hey?” the old man asked, scratching his stubbly chin as he approached. “Yer no falconer,” he mumbled for the thousandth time.

  Logan hid his irritation easily enough. The old man had been suspicious of him from the beginning. But despite his annoying habit of talking too much, the old man was an honest worker and Logan respected him for that. Old Ben worked diligently to keep the mews scrupulously clean and the falcons well fed.

  “Are the birds all right?” Logan asked.

  “Birds,” old Ben grunted. “Me darlin's are fine. No thanks to ya. Where were ya? Out whorin'?”

  Logan stopped, his back straightening. He had never needed to pay for favors that were freely given. The old man is just irked because I wasn't here with him to protect his darlin's from the arrow attack, Logan thought. He turned to Ben, but said nothing.

  Old Ben snorted. “Ya know we're in a siege. Need every good sword arm we can get. ‘Cause that's what I think you do.”

  The remark unnerved Logan and he had to turn away, moving toward his quarters.

  “It's nothin' ta be embarrassed about. Whatever ya done before coming here is history. Ain't nothin' ta me. ‘Sides, I said it before, I'll say it again. Ya ain't no falconer, even if ya do go round with that beauty on yer shoulder.”

  Logan ignored the old man and continued to his room. It was a small room, not much bigger than a stall. No better than a horse would have, Logan thought grimly. And colder, too. He slept on a bed of old straw in the corner of the room. At least it's private, he thought as he shut the door on old Ben's harangue.

  The bird immediately flew to a small wooden perch Logan had carved for it. It fluttered there, watching him with those round brown eyes. He lit a candle and placed it on a table beside the bed. Feeling the bird's gaze on him, Logan glanced impatiently at it. “What are you looking at?” he demanded. But there was no answer. It just continued to watch him.

  Of course old Ben was right. He was no falconer. But it was the best disguise he could come up with. And it had worked well enough to get him back into Castle Fulton. He was grateful for the bird's presence, if only because it had helped him fool lady Alissa into hiring him.

  Logan sat down beside the candle and removed the dagger from his waistband. He picked up a stone from the floor and ran it along the edge of the blade.

  For some reason, his senses were keen now. Perhaps it was the arrow attack. He ran the rock against the blade again.

  For some reason, his nerves were on edge. Perhaps it was the battle lust that stirred his blood. The rock sheared across the metal.

  Or perhaps it was the soft curves that had pressed against his chest. The lingering scent of roses that filled his nose. The green eyes that radiated enough heat to burn his very soul.

  He brought the rock up too far, scraping his knuckles. “Damn,” he muttered and shook his hand as burning engulfed it. He stared at his scraped knuckles, allowing the burning to fill his body, to cleanse it of all thoughts but his mission. He had to find Peter. Nothing else mattered.

  He put the stone down and picked up a piece of wood. He turned the rough bark over in his hands and studied it for a moment. The crude outline of a girl was etched into the thick branch. He pressed the freshly sharpened dagger to the wood and shaved off a piece near the arm, giving it a slender curve.

  Nothing else mattered, he told himself again.

  Solace sat in the Great Hall, staring at the trencher of food before her, but not really seeing it. She turned a roll over in her hand again and again. She had eaten late, well after the sun had set. It was the first time she had gotten a break from attending the wounded and comforting the families of the dead. Four people had been killed in the attack, including the miller.

  Guilt filled her throughout the day as her mind refused to dwell on the dead and the wounded. To her dismay, her thoughts continued to dwell on steel eyes and the persistent sensation of a hard chest pressed tightly against her breasts. The thoughts were distracting, annoying and… totally overpowering.

  She wiped a strand of hair from her eyes. She hadn't even had an opportunity to thank him. Solace rose, setting aside her meal, and moved out of the Great Hall. It was late, but maybe he'd still be awake.

  She left the keep and headed for the mews. The moon had risen, giving the empty inner ward an eerie glow, a ghostly deserted look. As she passed the mews, the silence of the night was loud in her ears; even the falcons were still. She moved toward the sleeping areas next to the mews and entered the small building. She stood in the narrow entranceway, first glancing at the closed door to her left, then to the one on her right. One room would house Old Ben, the other the falconer. She realized suddenly that she didn't even know his name. A resolve filled her. She would find out his name. Now. But she paused between the doors. Whic
h one? she wondered. Which was his? She looked at each door as if a simple glance could tell her. Then, taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked on the door to her right. The door creaked open slowly. Solace stood with her hand raised, staring into the darkness of the room. “Hello?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. The quiet stretched on.

  She tried to see into the room, but blackness blanketed it. “Ben?” she queried. She reached out to touch the door. Something seemed strange. Why was the door open? Maybe Old Ben was sick or hurt. Solace eased the door open and stepped into the room. “Is anyone here?”

  She stood for a long moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but without windows it was almost impossible. Then, she noticed a stray moonbeam shining in through two warped pieces of wood. She stepped into the light. The thin sliver of moonlight illuminated a small table, and Solace could see a candle and flint sitting on its surface.

  She lit the candle. As the flickering light spread over the small room, the cloak of darkness fell from it and her gaze moved over to the sleeping area. The bed, a pile of hay covered by a thin blanket, was empty. Beside it was a sack tied shut with a rope. But it wasn't until she noticed the black-winged falcon sleeping on its perch that she knew she was in the falconer's room.

  A strange shiver shot through her. I should leave, she thought. I shouldn't be here. She bent to blow the candle out, but a flash of light from the hay caught her attention and she halted. She turned her head to gaze in confusion at the hay where the falconer slept. Was it fire? she wondered. Something was shining dully in the light. But it didn't spread like fire. It reflected the candlelight back at her. She took a step toward the bed, reached out and carefully shifted the straw. For a long moment she could only stare at what she had discovered.

  It was the blade of a highly polished sword. What would a falconer be doing with a sword? A shiver of apprehension coursed through her as she pushed the hay farther away from the weapon, revealing the full length of the sword. Solace picked the weapon up, needing two hands to lift its weight, and placed it on her lap to study it. The leather grip covering the handle was well worn. A red jewel adorned the bottom of the handle, its deep color absorbing the candlelight, giving it a lustrous glow. Just above the guard, etched in the silver of the blade, was a crest. Two crossed swords over a full moon. Solace frowned slightly. She had seen that crest somewhere before. But where?

  Again the question came to her mind: what was a falconer doing with a sword? Was he a thief? Or a fighter?

  Her eyes shifted to the weapon. The sword was beautiful, polished so highly that she could see her reflection in the flat part of the blade. She ran her finger lightly along the side of it. So smooth, she marveled. So... sharp!

  She pulled her finger away with a start. The blade cleanly cut her skin, leaving a smear of blood along the sword's flawless edge. She stuck her finger in her mouth.

  Suddenly, she heard a rustling sound behind her. She shoved the sword back beneath the hay and stood up, whirling to see the falconer standing in the doorway.

  Chapter Eight

  “What are you doing here?” Logan demanded.

  Solace stood motionless, frozen like a rabbit knowing it's been spotted by a bird of prey.

  He closed the door behind him, his gaze raking over her, taking in her pale expression, her wild, loose hair, the way she was standing near his bed. He felt an instantaneous, unwanted, stirring in his loins.

  “The door was open. I... I thought something was wrong,” she finally said.

  Logan studied her face for a moment; her eyes seemed to be larger than normal, full of guilt. But they were still the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. It was as if someone had stolen the magic of the sea and locked it in her eyes.

  He forced himself to turn away, quickly scanning the room, but nothing seemed to be amiss. He looked back at Solace. “What do you want?”

  “I was looking for you. I wanted to thank you. I meant to do it earlier, but – ”

  “Thank me?” he echoed. His eyes narrowed.

  “For saving me,” she added quickly.

  He watched the way she nervously twisted her hands before her. “And you snuck into my room to do this?”

  “I already told you the door was open. I thought Old Ben might be hurt or – ”

  “So you just walked into my room?”

  “I didn't know it was your room,” she insisted.

  Logan frowned at her. “Couldn't this wait until morning?”

  She shuffled her feet. “I've been so busy all day I feared I would have even less time tomorrow,” she answered, gazing up at him from beneath lowered eyelashes. “And I did want to thank you.”

  The shaft of moonlight slanted across her large eyes, making them glow with an irresistible innocence. He took a step forward and found himself before her. The scent of roses floated to him, enveloping him in her sweet fragrance. His shadow erased the candlelight, and for one mad moment he wished he could see her eyes again.

  “What kind of gratitude are you offering?” he wondered, his voice deep and husky.

  Solace opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say a word, Logan placed his hands on her shoulders, gently brushing her silky hair aside. He felt her sharp intake of breath, the press of her breasts against his chest as he stepped forward, drawing her against him.

  Suddenly, his boot caught on something. He glanced down to find the hilt of his sword sticking out of the hay. He looked up to find her head bent, her eyes focused on the sword at their feet. When she lifted her gaze to his, he saw a sudden flash of fear flare in her bright green eyes.

  Without warning, Solace shoved him aside and bolted for the door. He quickly recovered, spinning toward the door. In one stride he crossed the room, moving with the agility of a warrior. Solace barely opened the door before he slammed it shut from behind her.

  “Here to thank me, eh?” Logan growled.

  Again, she pulled at the door, but against his strength she was no match.

  “What do you want?” he demanded. “Why are you here?”

  Suddenly, she straightened and turned to him. Her eyes flashed with defiance. “What are you hiding?”

  He slapped his other palm against the door, trapping her between his arms. He leaned closer to her, bringing his face only inches from hers. He could all but smell her fright. He could almost feel her heart beating wildly. “You play a dangerous game, lady Solace.”

  “Who are you?” she demanded, even though her body trembled.

  He had to admire her strength, her spirit, the way her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. He leaned closer, without touching her. Didn't she realize the danger she was in? Why wasn't she pleading with him to spare her life? “The falconer,” he whispered.

  He watched her swallow hard, the way her delicate throat worked. “Falconers don't have swords,” she answered breathlessly.

  “And snooping doesn't befit a lady,” he retorted.

  “I wasn't snooping!” she insisted. “I came to thank you!”

  “Then how did you find the sword?” Logan wondered, a mocking sneer curving his lips.

  He watched conflicting emotions dance across her lovely face. She immediately opened her mouth to retort, but then a frown creased her brow and she clenched her teeth. Her green eyes flashed with resolution. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, begrudgingly relinquishing victory. “I didn't mean to snoop.” She dropped her head and wouldn't look him in the eye. “I'm sorry.”

  Logan's suspicion slipped a notch at her admission. It took courage to admit fault. Not many would acknowledge it. But she had seen the sword, and it had his crest on it. Did she know who he really was? Why he was here? “Let's talk about why you're really here.”

  Her eyes jerked up to his, and Logan found a moment of delight at seeing those shimmering, heated orbs again. He wanted to kiss that thin-lipped anger into full-blown desire. He wanted to see what those magnificent eyes looked like in the heat of pass
ion. He wanted her to admit that she came into his room in the middle of the night to feel his kisses, his hands, his...

  “Very well,” she said quietly. “I really do appreciate what you did for me this afternoon. You risked your life to help me.”

  “That's not what I meant,” he said.

  “But that's why I'm here,” she replied.

  Logan narrowed his eyes. She was too dangerous. He couldn't afford to have someone discover who he was before he found his brother. He lifted a hand from the wall and moved it toward her neck. Instead, the traitorous hand ran a finger over her cheek. He marveled at the chiseled perfection of her face. His gaze shifted from her cheek to meet her stare. She was watching him in silence with daunting emerald eyes.

  What the hell was he doing! Angry, he pushed away from her with a snarl. “Go!” he commanded. He expected to hear the door open and close quickly, to be left standing alone.

  She whirled to do just as he expected, but suddenly she was still, her hand on the handle of the door.

  Slowly, he lifted his eyes to find her still there. Oh, he thought with a groan. She was tempting him. He could just reach around her smooth, delicate throat and run a kiss... a dagger across it. She wouldn't even know what had happened. He could just...

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The sincerity in her voice froze him. It really was why she'd come. She had wanted to thank him.

  Then she opened the door and was gone, fleeing into the darkness.

  Logan stared at the space she had just occupied. He was a fool. He had risked his freedom by opening the castle gates for her and now he was risking his life by letting her go. Surely she would sound an alarm, call the guards' attention to him.

  Disgusted, he sat on the side of the bed, staring at the sword. He pulled it from the straw with one hand, holding it before him. What is happening to me, Father? he wondered as he stared at the sword's gleaming surface. She taints me like a poison, casts a spell over my very flesh. I should keep only my mission in my mind, be pure like this sword.