by Ruth Kaufman
“Yes,” Solace breathed. “Logan, I'd like you to meet Peter Grey. Peter, your brother, Logan.”
Logan watched Peter's face transform from frosty anger into anguished confusion.
“Logan? Is it really you?” Peter asked in a thick voice.
Logan saw Solace slip out the door, leaving them alone, and he was grateful to her. Tears came to Logan's eyes as he nodded his head. He couldn't believe his brother was standing before him after all these years, after all the dashed hopes, the years of planning for revenge. He wanted to embrace him; he wanted to touch him and make sure he was really there.
But before he could move, Peter cocked his fist back and delivered a blow to his chin.
Logan jerked back. Pain seared through his jaw and through his burned cheek.
“I told you not to go!” Peter hollered.
Another blow to his stomach doubled Logan over.
“I cursed your name, Logan! I thought you were dead,” Peter snarled. “And I'm going to make you wish you were.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I am dead,” Logan answered his brother, clutching his stomach against the pain Peter's blow caused. “I've been in hell for thirteen years.”
“Good!” Peter shouted. “You should have been. After what you did. It was your fault. Mother and Father...” He stopped, his voice cracking, and he turned away from Logan.
Logan lifted his head, staring at his brother. He had thought this would be a joyous occasion, to find the last of his family. He'd imagined embracing, slapping Peter on the back. He had even imagined Peter helping to exact revenge. But he had never imagined this reunion, had never realized the extent to which his brother would hate and blame him. Almost as much as he himself did.
“Damn it, Logan,” Peter said in a heavy voice. “I thought I'd never see you again.”
Logan stood, head bowed, allowing his brother to vent his hatred, his anger. Everything Peter said was something he had already told himself over and over.
“You were supposed to come back,” Peter told him. “You told me you would. And then you didn't show up.”
Would it matter if I told him it hadn't been my fault? Logan wondered. That the damn horse threw me. That the damn rock smacked my head hard and knocked me out. He shook his head sadly. It would still be my fault. It would not bring our parents back.
Peter grabbed him by the front of his tunic and shoved him back against the wall with enough force to make him gasp for a breath. “Father was worried sick. He blamed me! Because I was the responsible one. And I had let you go.”
Logan saw the pain in his brother's eyes, the grief. “I'm sorry, Peter. I was wrong,” Logan confessed.
“Wrong?” Peter released him and stepped back. “Is that all you can say for yourself?”
“What do you want me to say?” Logan asked. “Don't you think I've gone through it over and over in my mind? How foolish I was, how naive! What I could have done differently!”
“You should have stayed in the castle!”
“Yes. I should have. But I didn't.” Logan looked away from his brother toward the cell door. “I thought you were dead. I'd given up everything, all hope. I had only revenge to concentrate on.” He swiveled his gaze back to Peter. “Then I found out you were alive. I came as soon as I heard.”
“It wasn't soon enough,” Peter retorted.
Logan ignored him. “I had visions of you in chains in the dungeon. But the dungeon was empty. I looked in the stocks, everywhere I could think a prisoner might be. But you weren't there.” Logan's brow furrowed with confusion. “Where have you been?”
Peter turned his back on his brother. Logan saw the corded muscles of his neck tighten as he crossed his arms. “I work for Farindale now.”
Outrage seared through Logan, hotter than the branding iron that had scorched his cheek. “Farindale?” he gritted out. “After what he did?”
Peter whirled on him, shoving a finger into his chest. “No, after what you did.”
Logan batted Peter's arm away, furiously. “He invaded Fulton! Do you think I made him do it?”
“It was your fault the gates were open. We would have had a fighting chance against him if it weren't for you!”
“That doesn't explain why you're working for him!” Logan shouted. He looked to the door, then lowered his voice to keep their conversation private. “That doesn't explain why you're working for our enemy!” he hissed.
“It was a long time ago!” Peter answered hotly. “I was a prisoner at first. I refused to be cooperative.” He glanced about the dungeon. “So I was locked in here for months. Do you know what this place can do to a man? Do you know what this place can do to a boy?” Peter laughed harshly, more a bark of agony than a chortle of merriment. “I couldn't stand it anymore. The darkness. The gloom. The silence. So I gave them my word I would not try to escape and Farindale let me have the run of the castle.”
“And then you just decided to work for him?” Logan asked incredulously.
“It wasn't like that,” Peter answered, some of the fire leaving his voice. “It was a long time. Years passed. And it was still the home I had grown up in.”
“Minus your family,” Logan answered bitterly.
“Yes. But the Farindales were kind to me. Solace in particular. She was so gentle and smart and patient. And beautiful.”
Logan froze, dreading his brother's next words.
Peter continued. “Even though I spurned her efforts at friendliness, she kept trying.” He laughed quietly, softly, remembering. “I said some mean things to her. But she has the patience and persistence of a saint. I found myself looking forward to her visits. We would take walks every day.”
Logan's body trembled. He didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to know how friendly they had become. He could see himself in Peter. And for the first time, it became clear to Logan how Solace had manipulated him, working her way into his life just as she had Peter's. He, too, looked for her every time he entered the courtyard, found his eyes following her when she walked.
“And then they offered me a position as a guard.”
“What better way to be near her,” Logan murmured, understanding.
“And protect her. They gave me a sword, armor.” Peter looked into Logan's eyes. “I love her, Logan.”
Stunned, Logan could not move. Another man, his brother, loved Solace. A fierce, sudden anger consumed him and he grabbed Peter's shirt, shoving his face at him. “How could you love her?” He shook him, hard. His fists knotted in the fabric of his tunic. “She's our enemy!” Finally, Logan shoved his brother to the ground, snarling, “Traitor.” He stood over Peter, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his jaw clenched so tight his cheek flamed with pain. “You traitor!” Logan sneered, looking down at Peter's ashen face. “Get away from me!” He whirled away, pacing the cell, keeping his back to his brother.
He had fallen into the same trap Peter had! He had looked forward to seeing Solace every day, sought her out at any excuse. Kissed her and made love to her as tenderly as if she were his wife. Within months, would he be working for Farindale, too? The thought enraged him, and he slammed his fist into the wall with a fierce cry.
Suddenly, he heard a lock being undone. He turned to find Peter standing near the dungeon wall, the padlock of his captivity swinging open. Logan raised startled eyes to his brother.
“I'm not a traitor,” Peter declared and tossed Logan a key.
Logan caught it in his open palm. He saw a dagger drop to the ground near his feet. When he looked up, Peter was leaving the cell. Quickly, Logan unlocked the manacle around his throat and tore it off. He moved to the open cell door.
Peter loved Solace. Logan had come all this way, had put his revenge on hold for a traitor! How could Peter love her? Her father had killed their parents. How could Peter hold her in his arms, knowing it was her family that had murdered theirs?
You did, a tiny voice inside him accused.
Logan moved
out into the hallway, sneaking up on the unsuspecting guard as he bent to take a bite of his bread. He slid the dagger across the guard's throat.
I'll show them, he thought. I'll retake Castle Fulton.
Peter loved her.
Logan snuck out of the dungeon, the shadows of the night hiding him like a cloaked spy. I'll reclaim the castle for my own. I'll rule in my father's name.
Peter loved Solace.
Logan moved through the courtyard with the agility of a cat, moving from shadow to shadow like a thief
I'll bring honor to myself.
Peter loved Solace!
Logan kicked open the door to his room with a howl of rage. How could he have let a Farindale get the best of him? How could he have let her manipulate him like that?
Furious, he shoved a blanket into the sack beside the table. He whirled on the table and swept it clean with his arm, pulling his belongings into the sack. He turned to survey the room when a gleam from beneath the mattress caught his attention.
He reverently bent and retrieved the sword, his father's sword. He ran his hand lovingly over the crest. Peter was a traitor. How could he work for Farindale? How could he have turned traitor? How could he love her? The same questions refused to stop swirling about his mind.
“Logan?”
Logan whirled, bringing the sword around, finding it pointing at his enemy's chest.
Solace froze with a gasp.
He rose, keeping the sword aimed at her heart. “What do you want, witch?” he asked from between gritted teeth. “How did you know to find me here?”
“Peter told me. I wanted to see if you were all right,” she answered, eyeing the sword.
“What's your real reason for coming here?” he demanded. “Did you hope to bewitch me as you have my brother?”
“I don't understand,” she said.
Logan eyed her. Her long, brown hair was unleashed about her face in a flurry of curls. Her cheeks were smooth and touched with pink, kissed by the sun. Her large emerald eyes stared up at him in confusion. Her lips were full and kissable.
Logan tossed aside the sword. It clanged against the wall and fell to the straw mattress. He was before her in one step, grabbing her shoulders. “Why have you come? What do you want of me?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but in the next instant his mouth was covering hers, plundering hers with a hunger, a vengeance, a longing that consumed him. He felt her stiffen and try to pull away, but he held her still against him, kissing her savagely.
Solace yanked her head away from him, shoving at his chest.
Logan thought to punish her for being so pure, so beautiful as to lead him away from his mission. Instead, he felt utter horror and complete embarrassment over what he had just done to her. He stiffened in fury at himself, his face twisting in an ugly grimace. “Get out,” he snarled.
Her large eyes pooled with shock and then confusion.
With a savage cry, he shoved her away from him. She landed in the dirt just outside his room, stunned. “Get away from me, witch!” he hollered.
She stumbled back and tears entered her large eyes. Then she turned and ran.
As she fled, she took with her any compassion he had left. A coldness spread through Logan, leaving a desolate wasteland inside him. He turned back to his room and picked up the sack and the sword.
He marched out of his room, through the courtyard, clutching his sword. His vengeance was just beginning. It was time to finish it.
It was time to retake Castle Fulton.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Solace ran to her room and threw herself onto her bed. Tears streaked from her eyes and she found she was unable to stop them. Why would he hurt me that way? she wondered. Why would he push me away? There had been no tenderness in his touch, no kindness in his eyes. Only anger. Only hate. With that realization came a searing pain through her heart as if he had slashed it with a sword.
She trembled at the haunting look she had seen in his eyes. She couldn't believe it was the same man who had kissed her so passionately, touched her body with such devotion, brought her to such a sweet explosive release, the same man she had fallen hopelessly in love with.
She sat up, wiping a sleeve across her runny nose. How could she have allowed herself to love him? Because he was strong and handsome, even with that horrible burn now branded into the side of his face. Did Logan somehow blame her for his branding?
Suddenly, a disturbingly familiar noise rang through the air, a sound that sent shivers up her spine. She stiffened, listening. The clashing of metal echoed distantly in the otherwise silent night air. Solace tilted her head, straining to hear. Like an approaching storm, the sound came closer, and with it screams and shouts. It sounded more like...
Dread filled her so completely that for a moment she couldn't move. Then she bolted into action, running from her room. A feeling of doom seemed to shadow her steps as she moved toward the Great Hall. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for someone. But no one appeared, no page, no servant, no knight.
She reached an alcove where a large window stood shuttered against the night's cold. She could hear the muffled sound of clashing swords from behind the shutters. The sound was close. Too close. Solace reached for the shutters, but then pulled her hands back, afraid of what she would find. Hesitantly, she reached again for the shutters and pushed them open. Below her, her soldiers were battling a swarm of men dressed in purple and black tunics; her men were obviously outnumbered. No, her mind screamed. It can't be!
Slowly her gaze rose and through the open outer ward gates she saw the castle gates were wide open, inviting the steady swarm of attacking soldiers that poured in. A shudder shot down her spine. Open? But how? Had Barclay bribed one of the guards to open the gate? She had heard of such a thing in a siege at Williamsburg.
A chilling scream sounded from down the hallway. Solace spun toward the cry, but stood for a long moment, indecision plaguing her. What could she hope to do against a barrage of enemy soldiers? They were attacking her people! Her heart ached and despair consumed her. I can't leave the villagers to Barclay, she thought and grim determination filled her as she ran toward the scream.
Then, Father Davis's words rang in her head. I want you to promise me that if they enter the castle, you‘ll run. To her father. How could she run? How could she leave her castle? Her people? She couldn't.
The clunk of armored boots reached her ears. She whirled to see Barclay's soldiers behind her! Where had they come from? It was as though they had materialized out of thin air. Was Barclay using some sort of black magic?
Frightened, she bolted out the open doors into the courtyard. And raced into chaos! Flames engulfed the blacksmith's shop, its heat threatening to sear her skin. The desperate shouts coming from the battlements thundered in her ears. Smoke billowed out from the doorway of the arrow maker's shop, the thick black cloud blowing around her, stinging her eyes and stealing the breath from her lungs. All around her, Solace heard the clang of metal against metal. She stumbled from the black cloud, disoriented and scared. Fear made her run through the night, through the turmoil.
She found herself before the mews, racing toward the sleeping compartments. She threw open a door. “Logan?” she called out in a desperate, shaky voice.
But his room was empty. Everything was gone. His sack. The table was bare. She ran to the side of the bed and dropped to her knees. With trembling hands, she lifted the straw. It was gone. She stuck her hands beneath the straw, searching frantically.
No. No! It wasn't there. It was gone. Logan's sword was gone. He had left. Tears welled in her eyes; her throat constricted painfully. Slowly, she rose to her feet.
Why should he have stayed? He had done what he came to do. He had found Peter.
Her body trembled and she wasn't sure whether it was because he was gone or whether it was because her castle was lost. She stepped out into the night, trying to think clearly. But all around her, she heard defeat, the cries of the dy
ing, flames spitting at the night sky, screams of her people.
“What do we have here?”
Solace whirled to see one of Barclay's men staring at her. He clutched a bloody blade, which he lowered slightly. His face was red from exertion. “It looks like it's time for my reward,” he said with a grin.
Solace straightened as he took a step toward her. Think, she told herself. But she couldn't. Her mind wouldn't function. She knew that look in the soldier's eyes. She had seen it before. In Graham's eyes. In lord Randol's eyes. An all-consuming fear began closing in on her mind, fogging her thoughts.
“Wait,” she pleaded desperately, holding her hands up before her, trying to ward off the evil gleam glowing in the soldier's eyes.
“I've waited long enough,” he growled and lunged for her, catching one of her wrists in his hold.
Images of lord Randol ripping Anne's clothing filled her mind along with memories of Graham's body pressed against her own.
The man pulled her to him, slamming her hard against his chest.
No, she thought. It seemed to be the only word her mind could focus on. She tried to speak it, but the horror of what was happening kept her voice frozen inside her.
“The Baron said whatever treasure we find is ours,” he whispered hotly in her ear. His hands roamed her breasts, squeezing them savagely.
Solace tried to shove his hands away, a growing desperation surging in her soul.
“And I think your treasures will be a mighty fine reward,” he chuckled.
“I've got gold,” she said, trying to buy herself a moment.
The soldier paused, pulling back to look at her. “Gold?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with a different kind of lust.
