The Lady and the Falconer

by Laurel O'Donnell

  ***

  An hour later, the castle courtyard was overflowing with expectant onlookers. Soldiers packed the battlements. Villagers watched from their shops. An alewife moved through the crowd, collecting wagers on the coming fight. She had to stop as Logan was ushered through the crowd before her by two guards. Graham awaited him in the makeshift circle the crowd had created.

  Logan couldn’t help but overhear the odds were not in his favor. His eyes scanned the crowd. He didn’t care about the damn odds. He had faced far worse before. He continued searching for Solace, knowing she would be here somewhere. Then his gaze came to rest on her. She stood near the garden fence, her hands folded, her eyes on him. It had been a stroke of genius to suggest trial by combat. No one knew him as a fighter. He felt a strange stirring of pride.

  He lifted his gaze to the sky, having to shield his eyes with his hand from the glare of the sun to see the falcon circling high overhead like a vulture. “Damn bird,” Logan grumbled. It seemed even the falcon was betting against him.

  Alissa stepped forward. “Let the trial begin!” she announced. Then she turned to Graham, bowing slightly. “At your leisure, lord Graham.”

  Logan caught the handle of the blade Graham threw to him, but didn’t have time to inspect it as Graham attacked immediately. Logan blocked his blow, feigning a stumble backward. He was far too good a warrior not to expect an immediate attack. But Logan also knew that if he didn’t pretend unease with the sword, his cover could be blown. He stumbled again, allowing Graham to push him back.

  The crowd parted as the two fighters moved too close. Graham was a weak fighter. Logan saw it immediately, the way he struck and pulled back in case Logan attacked. The man was incapable of anything but a one-swing attack. He was doomed.

  Logan felt the press of a wall behind him. A grin stretched Graham’s lips taut. The image of those lips pressing on Solace’s flesh distracted Logan for a moment. Graham sliced at Logan and was rewarded by a slash on his arm. Logan grimaced, pushing aside any thoughts of Solace.

  Then, more confident, Graham swung a blow at Logan’s head. Logan ducked and sidestepped, the blade whizzing in the air just above his head. He quickly moved around Graham to trap him against the wall, raising his weapon to attack. He lunged, pinning part of Graham’s tunic to the wall.

  The crowd gasped. All around him, Logan heard shouts of encouragement, but none directed at him.

  Logan withdrew the blade in time to block a frantic swing of Graham’s. There was panic in the noble’s eyes, and it would have been Logan’s turn to grin, if he were prone to that sort of thing. He stepped forward, arcing the blade toward Graham’s neck.

  Desperately, Graham brought his sword up, blocking the blow. As the blades hit, Logan’s gave way, splitting cleanly in half.

  Again the crowd gasped, this time louder than before. Coins began to exchange hands as murmurings of the falconer’s imminent defeat swept through the crowd.

  Logan stared in shock at the straight break in the blade. Then his eyes lifted to Graham’s. There was no surprise there, only acceptance. He had planned it this way! That was why he hadn’t given Logan the chance to look at the sword. Logan threw the useless blade to the ground.

  He then backed away as Graham waved his blade before him, toying with him. Logan doubted the man would stop with a yield, and he’d be damned if he would give him one.

  Graham chuckled low in his throat as Logan retreated. He swung his sword, and Logan leapt aside. The man was out for blood.

  “Logan!”

  Logan turned and Solace tossed a piece of wood at him. He caught it easily and turned back just in time to block Graham’s swing. With his new weapon in hand, Logan attacked relentlessly, driving Graham back to the herb garden fence near the east wall. He was tired of this game, tired of this man. He wanted to bash his head in and spill his brains into the earth.

  Suddenly, Logan stepped on the pointed tip of the broken blade and his ankle twisted. He fell to the ground, the wood tumbling from his hands, sliding across the courtyard.

  In the next instant, Graham was standing over him, his blade raised. Logan reached out to his sides, groping blindly in the dirt, searching for something, anything. His fingers closed over the handle of the broken blade. He raised it to protect himself just as Graham plunged forward to slam the sword at his skull.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Logan moved his head to the side and Graham’s sword plunged into the earth beside his cheek. Grimacing, Logan thrust his broken blade up.

  He stared at Graham’s shocked face. Graham coughed, spraying Logan with blood, before he slowly slumped to the side. Logan sat up and was greeted by absolute quiet. Hundreds gaped at the bloody scene, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Slowly, Logan stood and looked down at Graham, who lay unmoving, blood soaking through his tunic.

  A scream pierced the silence like a clap of thunder, and Beth shoved her way through the crowd, rushing to Graham’s side. She dropped to her knees, sobbing.

  Logan cast a look at Solace who stood motionless, as stunned as everyone, her hand planted firmly over her mouth, her green eyes wide.

  “Murderer!” Beth hissed at Logan, her eyes full of real tears.

  “Guards!” Alissa screamed.

  Two men appeared at Logan’s side, both holding swords.

  “Take him to the dungeon!” she shouted.

  Logan made no attempt to resist as he was led away. He turned one last time to glance over his shoulder at Solace, to see her slowly drop her hand from her mouth.

  ***

  Solace watched the guards take Logan away, her heart breaking. Guilt washed over her. It was all her fault. She was the one who had suggested trial by combat. She was the one Logan was protecting when he hit Graham. She was the one Graham had lusted after.

  Beth’s wailing broke through her fragile shell of remorse, and she turned her eyes to her half sister. She was sobbing onto Graham’s bloody chest, her fingers clutching at his tunic. Alissa was at her side, whispering soothing words to her, gently patting her back.

  Immediately, Solace moved to Beth. She knelt at her sister’s side, despite the warning glare from Alissa. Solace put a hand to Beth’s shoulder, offering her comfort.

  But the scathing eyes that rose to her caused Solace to snatch her hand back as if she had just been burned.

  “You,” Beth snarled with contempt and pure hatred. “You little bitch!” She lunged at Solace, catching her around the throat. Solace fell back, trying to fight her off, but Beth’s grip was tight and unrelenting. It wasn’t until Alissa grabbed Beth’s shoulders and hauled her away from Solace that she was able to back away from her sister. She put her hands to her throat, massaging the tender skin, her eyes wide with disbelief.

  “It isn’t enough to be heir to Fulton,” Beth hollered. “You’ve always wanted what was mine! You’ve tried to steal away the men I love.”

  Her mouth dropped in shock. She continued to rub her neck slowly, realizing for the first time the depth of hatred Beth felt toward her. “I only wanted you to be happy. I never tried to hurt you, Beth,” Solace said, her voice heavy.

  “Hurt me? You stole Robert away from me! And you took Graham from me!”

  Solace straightened her back. “Graham was attacking me near the mews,” Solace said, raising her gaze defensively to her stepmother. “He tried to rape me.”

  Beth’s peal of deranged laughter echoed through the ward. “Of course he did!” she chorded. “Every man wants you! Why, you’re the most beautiful woman alive. No man can withstand your charms!” She picked up a lock of Solace’s dark hair, toying with the rebellious curl. “Why your hair is always tucked neatly under a headdress or combed to a brilliant glow.” Her voice was filled with mocking sarcasm. Solace always wore her hair down or braided.

  Solace brushed her hair from her sister’s hand.

  Beth snatched at Solace’s blue houppelande. “You’re always clothed in the latest fashions!”

 
Solace stood, her brows drawing together in a frown.

  Beth pursued her, pinching Solace’s sun-kissed cheeks in a mock kiss. “Your skin is as white as the lime wash. You’re never in the sun! Your lips –”

  Solace pulled her face free of Beth’s hold.

  “Solace,” Alissa said patiently, “you must be mistaken. Graham wouldn’t have wanted you.”

  Solace’s anger deepened. “Why?” she demanded. “He had been following me around the castle for months.”

  Beth snorted in disbelief.

  “Regardless of what you believe,” she said to Beth. “Graham attacked me. That was why he had those marks on his face. I did it, not Logan.”

  “Logan,” Beth cooed in a strangely sensual way, before turning her gaze to her mother. “He killed Graham!” A sly smile twisted Beth’s lips. “I want him executed, Mother!”

  “No,” Solace gasped, stepping toward Alissa. “You can’t do that.”

  “He killed Graham. Of course he will be executed.”

  Horror filled Solace as a smug, vindictive look crossed Beth’s face. “It was trial by combat. He won. He proved his innocence.”

  Alissa turned dark eyes to Solace. “Because of your interference, he dies at dawn,” she said.

  “Interference?” Solace echoed in confusion.

  “When he was defenseless you gave him the piece of wood.”

  “No!” Solace gasped.

  “Burn him, Mother,” Beth suggested in a retaliatory voice.

  Alissa nodded in agreement.

  “Please, Mother,” Solace begged, grabbing hold of her hand. “He was helping me.”

  Alissa’s eyes narrowed to cold slits and she pulled her hand free. “Yes,” she murmured. “Helping you become a whore.”

  “Looks like you’ll have to find someone else to spread your legs for,” Beth hissed, joyfully. “Harlot.”

  “Mother...” Solace pleaded, glancing at Alissa.

  “Slut,” Beth called out.

  Solace stumbled back, horrified at the sudden turn of events, fearful that she couldn’t stop them. She turned and fled from the courtyard to the keep, racing through the hallways of the castle, not seeing the faces of the villagers who watched her run past them. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away from their accusations.

  She wasn’t a harlot. She wasn’t a whore.

  Solace found herself standing before the large wooden doors leading to the old hall. Cobwebs still hung thick in the corners; the dust stirred around her, making her sneeze.

  She pushed the doors open, and this time they didn’t seem to give as easily as they had before. She raced to the window and dropped to her knees before it, resting her forehead against the cold stone of the ledge. Its coolness felt soothing to her hot brow. It was almost as hot as her guilt. Logan had helped her, saved her from Graham. And because of that he was going to be executed.

  She could not let him die. But what could she do? If only she could postpone his execution until her father came home. She would do anything to spare Logan.

  She turned around to stare at the pictures against the wall. “Tell me,” she challenged them. “Tell me the secret. How shall I help Logan?”

  Her voice echoed through the room, answerless.

  She shook her head and wiped a strand of hair from her eyes. She couldn’t get over the fact that Alissa didn’t believe her. Solace had expected as much from Beth, but not Alissa. Perhaps if she were a man things would be different. A brother to Beth. Then there wouldn’t be any competition between them. She had always wanted a brother, or a sister for that matter. The closest thing to a brother she had was Peter. He had always been there for her. More like a family than her stepmother and half sister.

  Then an image came to her mind. She again remembered Peter fighting side by side with Logan. They had been built so much alike. So very tall, so broad. It was strange. Why, if she didn’t know better, she would think they were...

  Solace straightened, her face dawning with realization. That was it! That was where she had seen the crest before! She pushed away from the window, her heart hammering. The crest! Her mind kept screaming. She knew she had seen it somewhere before.

  She approached the plate armor she had knocked over and noticed no one had reassembled the fallen suit. Her eyes scanned the floor, looking for the shield. But it was not there. It was gone.

  Solace scowled. It had been here. The final piece to the puzzle. She searched the floor, but it was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, she stepped back, sighing.

  She was sure it had been here. Perhaps the crest was somewhere else. On a tapestry, perhaps. Her gaze moved to the tapestry on the wall behind where the suit of armor had been.

  The tapestry depicted two mighty warriors on horseback. Their swords crossed as their animals reared in combat. But nowhere on the entire tapestry was there a crest.

  Solace hung her head. She had been so sure she could find answers here, so sure. She was about to turn away when something caught her eye. There was a strange bulge beneath the tapestry. She stepped closer and noticed that something was hidden beneath the fabric.

  She eased the tapestry aside and released a curtain of dust that assaulted her. She swatted aside the annoying cloud, moving closer, refusing to give up her pursuit of the answer. When the dust settled, Solace gasped.

  The shield that had been hidden by the tapestry glinted in the sunlight. On its surface she could see two crossed swords upon a full moon... the Grey family crest. The same crest she’d seen on Logan’s sword!

  Chapter Nineteen

  The constant drip-drip was going to drive Logan insane, he was sure. He was bound by a metal collar around his neck that was attached by a thick chain to a large bolt on the wall. For the first few hours, he had paced the cell, trying to relieve the battle lust surging through his veins, trying to tell himself that Solace would get him out of here. She was his last hope. His only hope. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

  He sat on the dirty ground, his forehead resting on his bent knees. There was no sunlight in the bowels of the castle, no way to tell exactly what time it was. He had slept once, restlessly and shivering. In a rough guess, he figured half a day had passed because they had brought him two meager meals. Earlier he had searched the cell for a means of escape, pulling his chains until his wrists were raw and chafed. Now he began to doubt he would ever see the light of day again. His only hold on sanity was a pair of bright green eyes and the hope that he would see them again.

  As the hours inched by and the drip-drip was drowned out by another prisoner’s moans, Logan began to doubt that he would be able to finish his mission. Peter would never know that he was here, looking for him. Solace would never truly know how much she meant to him. He hadn’t realized it until he had seen Graham on top of her. Then, when his opportunity came to destroy the monster, he had taken it, forsaking all else to save Solace. To exact his revenge.

  Revenge. It was the wrong revenge. He forced himself to think back, trying to clear his mind, trying to focus on his mission. He closed his eyes and he could see Sullivan’s Hill as if it had all happened yesterday.

  Dark. It was so dark. Then, Lagan realized he was lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the starless night sky. A strange light flickered at the edge of his vision, but he paid it no mind as he boosted himself to his elbow. A sharp spear of agony cut through his head, and he raised a hand to his forehead. His hair was plastered to his skin in thick clumps of wetness. Logan knew it was blood. Slowly, he sat up, gently probing the cut on the side of his head.

  Burning wood. The smell wafted to his nose, and he snapped his head up to see the castle -- his castle -- burning! Thick, consuming flames billowed out from the interior of his home.

  “Father,” Logan whispered, a frantic feeling knotting the inside of his stomach.

  He was on his feet instantly. The world swam before his eyes and he staggered, battling off the effects of his wound. When the dizziness retrea
ted, Logan searched the hill for his horse, but the animal was nowhere to be found.

  He walked down Sullivan’s Hill, resisting the urge to run, knowing he would stumble and fall if he did. How had the castle fallen ? How could his father have been beaten so quickly, so easily? They had had food and reserves prepared for nearly a year!

  His step quickened, his stomach twisted and every one of his muscles corded tight. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

  He moved through town, fighting off the throbbing in his head, moving from shadow to shadow until the castle loomed before him. Smoke churned skyward from inside the walls in thick black clouds of destruction. As he came to the main road he had to pull back quickly.

  Armored men were moving in groups along it.

  Logan pressed himself close to the walls of the tailor’s shop.

  The flickering red of the flames burning behind the approaching men swayed over their tunics. Logan’s eyes gaped. Lined with gold, the white tunics bore the symbol of the lion -- Farindale’s crest!

  His jaw tightened as he watched the soldiers disappear into the blacksmith’s shop at the end of the street.

  Suddenly, a movement across the road caught his attention. Logan swiveled his gaze to the shadows. He made out the figure of a man stumbling along the road. He was dragging his leg behind him, hurrying to escape.

  Logan glanced one way along the street and then the other, making sure it was clear of guards, before racing across. He ignored the throbbing in his head as best he could, knowing he had to find answers. As he neared the bent man, Logan could see he was severely wounded. The man clutched his arm to his chest where his torn chain mail hung from his body, groaning with each step he took. Logan recognized the man’s crest immediately, two swords crossed over a full moon. His family crest.