The Lady and the Falconer

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “You can’t do it all by yourself,” William added.

  Logan rose stiffly and took a step back, his jaw clenched tight. Beatrice moved in front of him.

  As she began to cut the fabric from Solace’s shoulder, William grabbed Logan’s arm. “We’d best wait outside,” he said softly.

  Logan ripped his arm free of William’s hold. “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied with stern determination.

  “It’s not going to help her if you stay,” William said.

  “Come on, boy,” Uncle Hugh encouraged. “It’s best if you don’t see her wound.”

  “You’ll make poor Beatrice nervous,” William added.

  Logan’s shoulders straightened. “I’m not going.”

  There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet before the door opened and closed, his uncle and William departing in the silent wake of his stated resolve. Logan’s gaze locked on Beatrice’s hands as she peeled back the cotton dress, revealing the wound in all its evil, ugly and gaping and dark. It was still bleeding.

  Logan realized then why his uncle said he shouldn’t see the wound. His anguish was so fierce and so sudden he had to clench his fists and keep his arms tightly pinned to his sides, lest he lash out and destroy everything around him to vent his rage. She wouldn’t die, he told himself again and again. But the seriousness of her wounds made this a possibility. And Logan knew it. His stomach clenched as tightly as his hands and his jaw. I won’t lose her, he whispered quietly to himself. He stood guard over Solace like a stone gargoyle protecting its territory.

  ***

  William descended the stairs beside his father, his expression glum.

  Alexander sat in a chair in the Great Hall, running a rock across his sword to sharpen it. Blade paced before the smoldering hearth. Goliath held a stick and was sharpening the point with his dagger. Ryder sat at the table, rummaging through the leftover dinner bones for scraps of meat. At William and Hugh’s approach, all eyes lifted to them.

  “How is the lass?” Goliath wondered, his deep voice resounding through the Great Hall like a trumpet.

  Uncle Hugh shook his head and William lowered his gaze.

  “And Grey?” Blade asked.

  “Worse,” William said. “Won’t leave her side. It’s like the dagger sliced him as well.”

  “Perhaps it has,” Blade said, knowingly. “A deadlier dagger than that of steel.”

  William joined Alexander at the table, leaning against its edge. “He’s a stubborn man.”

  “He doesn’t even know, does he?” Blade asked. “The true hold she has on him?”

  William shook his head.

  “Perhaps now he has an inkling,” Alexander suggested.

  “Perhaps now we all do,” Blade said.

  “If he ever understands, his obsession for revenge will change to a different kind of obsession. A saner kind.”

  “If she lives,” Uncle Hugh added.

  All eyes turned to Hugh. William sighed. “If she lives,” he agreed.

  Silently, Ryder fingered the flowered handle of the gold-tipped dagger in his belt.

  ***

  Logan splashed water onto his face from the basin on the table. He moved to the window to stare at the night sky. Dark clouds drifted by the moon like thick wisps of black cotton, obscuring the stars.

  How could a killer have found Solace? She was supposed to be safe at Cavindale. Perhaps not so much as you would have liked to believe, a voice inside told him. If Ryder had not reached the man first, she would have been dead.

  A groan from behind him caused him to cast a glance back at the bed. Solace was still, her soft skin as pale as a moonbeam. He moved to her side and settled into a chair.

  As he expected, there had been two wounds. The dagger wound, which he had watched Beatrice stitch, and the head wound. It was the head wound that caused him the most concern. He had seen men die of head wounds less serious than what Solace had.

  He bent over and touched her forehead, smoothing back her dark hair. He wished he could see her eyes, wished she would open them so he could look into their emerald depths once again. He ran a finger along her lips. He wished she would smile again. He wished he could take every single one of her wounds into himself so she wouldn’t have to endure them.

  I love you. Her words haunted his every thought. She couldn’t love him. Not after everything he had done to her. She must have been delirious from the blow to her head.

  Logan sank back into the chair. God’s blood, he thought, closing his eyes tightly. How could I be so blind? I didn’t ride back to Westhaven to stop her from her foolish plan. I rode back to see her again. Damn my stubbornness. My destiny was right before me all this time and I didn’t even see her.

  He took her hand in his. It looked so tiny and small in his large, callused palm. I should have been there, he thought. I should have been at her side. None of this would have happened. The words resounded in his head just as they had for thirteen years. I should have been there. It seems I can never do the right thing. He ran a hand over his eyes.

  “Logan?”

  He sat upright quickly, leaning toward her voice as if it were the source of his lifeblood. “Solace?” He clutched her hand tightly, refusing to release his hold on her. A shaft of fleeting moonlight shimmered in her open eyes.

  “Logan, don’t leave,” she murmured in a thick voice.

  He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, until his lips were almost brushing hers. “I’m right here,” he said. He was so close to her face that he could feel her gentle breath fan across his lips. He felt a familiar stirring, too familiar when he was around her.

  Her smile was his reward. It was the most glorious reward he had ever received. Does she have to make all my wishes come true? he wondered bemusedly.

  Suddenly the clouds thinned and the moonlight shone fully in, casting her face in a pale glow, giving her eyes a deep green luminescence. He touched her cheek. She was all any man could want. He brushed his lips against hers. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you something?”

  “Everything I want is right here,” she whispered.

  Logan gazed into her eyes. He had been a fool. Why couldn’t he see how much? God’s blood! he thought. Let her live and I swear I’ll give up my quest for revenge. Just let her live.

  She lifted a hand to touch her bandaged forehead. “My head is pounding.”

  “He hit you pretty hard,” Logan said.

  “Did you get him?” Solace asked.

  Logan nodded. “You’re all right now. Everything’s fine. You don’t have to worry. Just rest. I’ll tell you everything later.”

  Solace nodded, struggling to keep her eyes open.

  His attention was drawn to her mouth as her tongue slipped out to wet her full lips. He found himself leaning forward to taste those lips, to see if they were as sweet as he remembered. He shook himself. She is wounded! he thought. And still I find myself incapable of breaking the spell she casts over me. Logan stood up unsteadily. “Rest,” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  He stood and moved to the door. He gripped the handle and opened it a fraction of an inch before pausing. A tingling sensation shot through his body and he turned. Solace was gazing at him with a wistful expression. Her large luminescent eyes shone brighter than the sun, calling to him.

  In the next instant, he was beside her. She stared up at him, breathlessly. She lifted her hand, reaching out to him.

  Logan captured her fingers in his. He bent, gently scooping her up in his arms and eased himself into the bed, delicately pulling her against him so her head was pillowed on his chest. He rubbed his cheek against her head as she settled against him.

  He felt the heated length of her along his body and knew there would be no sleep for him this night.

  Within moments, Logan sensed the steady breathing of a deep sleep as Solace drifted off into a healing slumber. Still, selfishly, he held her against his heart and waited until the sun began to peek over
the horizon, waited until there was no time left and Beatrice would soon enter the room. Only then did he slide slowly from beneath Solace, being careful not to wake her.

  He stared down at her for a long moment. She had curled into the warmth of the spot he had just vacated. Her soft face was peaceful, worry free. He rubbed his tired eyes. He needed to get something to eat, but he was reluctant to leave her.

  Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. Logan opened the door to see Ryder standing in the dark corridor just outside the room.

  “How is she?” Ryder inquired.

  “Better,” Logan replied. He stepped aside, allowing Ryder entrance into the room, and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for stopping that bastard.”

  “You don’t have to,” Ryder answered, his stare settling on Solace.

  Logan extended his arm. “I do,” he told him sincerely. “It means a lot to me.”

  Ryder clasped Logan’s arm, gripping it tightly. For a moment, their eyes met. It triggered a memory in Logan’s mind. A memory of Ryder sitting atop his horse in the field while the killer headed toward Solace.

  Ryder dropped his arm and turned back to Solace. “It’s been a long night,” he said. “Go get something to eat. I’ll stay and watch her.”

  A prickling of anxiety snaked its way up Logan’s spine. He dropped his gaze and something in Ryder’s belt caught his attention. The flowered handle of a dagger.

  Ryder put a hand on Logan’s shoulder, jarring Logan’s thoughts. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “I’ll stay with her. Beatrice will be here in a moment to change her dressing anyway. Go get something to eat and come back.”

  Logan nodded. He was being foolish. Ryder was a friend. He had saved her life, after all. Solace would be safe with him for a few moments. Again he nodded and headed for the door. As his hand closed over the handle, he turned back to cast a glance at Solace. She will be fine with Ryder, he told himself, and quietly closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Logan stood for a long moment outside Solace’s door, his fingers curled around the handle, his head bent. He didn’t like leaving Solace. Not even with Ryder.

  Ryder. He remembered him sitting in the saddle atop his horse, while the other man went after Solace with a dagger. Logan shook his head. You’re being overly suspicious, he thought. Not everyone is out to kill her, even if she is Farindale’s daughter.

  Logan released the door handle and moved away from the room, forcing himself to descend the steps. He was indeed very hungry and very weary. A few bites of food would give him some strength back. When he reached the Great Hall, he paused, his gaze scanning the room. It was empty and Logan realized it was still very early.

  Why had Ryder been up? Logan wondered. He sat heavily on a wooden bench, every one of his bones aching. Then his gaze drifted up the stairs toward Solace’s room. But instead of Solace’s image, the picture of a flowered-handled dagger came to his mind. The dagger had been tucked into Ryder’s belt. Logan knew he had seen it somewhere before. He looked down at the rushes on the floor. But where?

  Suddenly, he shot to his feet with such force he knocked over the wooden bench. He bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time and practically knocked the door down in his hurry to enter Solace’s room.

  One of Ryder’s hands was clamped around Solace’s neck. The other held the gold-tipped dagger, its blade reflecting the warming red rays of the rising sun and spitting them back into the room in glaring slivers of blood red light. An image flashed through Logan’s mind. The dagger glinting in the dirt of the courtyard near the mews of Castle Fulton. The dagger Graham had attacked Solace with! He hadn’t meant to rape her, but to kill her.

  Ryder lifted his head at the sudden interruption, snapping it toward Logan’s violent entrance. Solace’s small hands pulled at the thick fingers Ryder had around her neck, a choking gasp coming from her parted lips.

  Logan launched himself at Ryder, driving his head and shoulder into Ryder’s stomach, the force throwing both men over the side of the bed. The dagger clattered away across the room as they hit the floor hard. Logan quickly rolled to his feet, crouching before the bed like a panther ready to spring.

  “Don’t be a fool, Grey,” Ryder said, breathing heavily. “She’s worth more dead than alive.”

  “Who sent you?” Logan demanded.

  “She’s your enemy,” Ryder added.

  “No. You are,” Logan snarled and swung his tightly balled fist, connecting solidly with Ryder’s jaw. The force of the blow hurled Ryder backward, and his foot caught on the edge of a chest sitting at the foot of the bed. He twisted his body, trying to get his balance, but his head smashed into the bedpost with a sickening crack. He dropped like a stone to the floor.

  Logan straddled Ryder’s body, grabbing his tunic roughly, pulling Ryder’s head up toward him. He curled his fingers into a fist. “Who sent you?” he demanded again. He raised his fist high, ready to strike. But then he lowered his hand.

  He knew Ryder wasn’t going to tell him anything. Not ever again. The wide, glassy stare of his eyes was testament to that. Disgusted, Logan shoved Ryder’s head back to the floor and quickly turned his attention to Solace.

  She sat up in bed, touching the raw, red finger marks on her neck.

  Logan moved to the bed, sitting down beside her. He took Solace’s chin in his fingers and turned it to him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, leaning into Logan. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the protectiveness of his embrace. Her arms wrapped around him with a surprising strength, and she clung to him.

  The door swung open and William and Uncle Hugh rushed in, their eyes widening with alarm as they spotted Ryder’s dead body.

  Logan met their disturbed gazes over Solace’s head. Cavindale was no longer safe for the lady and the falconer.

  ***

  Solace spent most of the next week resting in bed. Every few hours, William came to see if she needed anything. Beatrice fussed about her like a mother hen throughout the day. Even Uncle Hugh came by to grunt his approval of her progress. Logan was constantly with her, watching her with that unnerving and exciting dark gaze. But it was always from a distance. Logan stayed well away from her, usually gazing pensively out the window.

  On the fourth day, he again took his customary stance at the window, his face as troubled as his spirit.

  Solace sat up in her bed, anxiously devising ways to escape the cage her bed had become.

  Logan turned to her and asked suddenly, “Why would those men want to kill you?”

  Startled, Solace met his gaze. “I don’t know,” she replied.

  He removed a gold-tipped, flower-handled dagger from his belt and displayed it to Solace.

  “That’s Beth’s!” she said immediately. “Where did you find it?”

  Logan replaced it in his belt. “Ryder had it.”

  Solace frowned. “How? Where did he get it?”

  She studied Logan’s serious expression and the implication of his words sank in. “You don’t think Beth...” Solace shook her head doubtfully. “She would know even less about hiring mercenaries than I do.”

  “You’re probably right,” he admitted, but Solace saw the disagreement in his eyes.

  He moved to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Solace nodded, but was lost in her own thoughts. Could Beth have wanted her dead? Would she actually hire a mercenary to kill her? Then Logan’s tale came back to her. Back at Castle Fulton, he had heard two people plotting to kill her. Had one of them been Beth? But why? Why would she want her dead?

  Miserable, Solace looked toward the door, searching for the comfort Logan always instilled in her. At the sight of it closed, she realized suddenly that she was alone. Alone for the first time since she had been hurt! She flung the covers aside and stood. Swarms of black dots swam before her eyes. She steadied herself on the table beside the bed, waiting for the dizzy spell to
fade. She hadn’t been out of bed for four days. She wanted to get up and run or ride a horse! She settled for carefully walking the length of the room. She enjoyed the movement, the stretching of her muscles.

  A shaft of sunlight on the floor caught her attention. Hungrily, her eyes followed it to the shutters. Her face lit with joy as she practically ran to them and threw them open. The sun streamed into the room, and Solace turned her face to its warm light, letting it bathe her cheeks.

  “Must I always stand guard over you?”

  Solace whirled to find Logan in the open doorway.

  “Back into bed,” he commanded.

  She cast a glance at the bed and scowled, then looked at Logan. When his eyes locked with hers, a bolt rocked her body.

  Swiftly he crossed the room to stand before her. He lifted his hands toward her, and Solace couldn’t help but gasp in expectation. Without a word, he reached around her to close the shutters.

  Disappointment speared her body like an arrow. He was close to her, closer than he had been in days. So close that his arms brushed her shoulders. With that simple touch, her senses flared to life, a tingling awareness filling her body. When he shifted his eyes to her, his hot silver gaze melted her insides.

  His look moved over her face, taking in every line, every curve. He barely touched her body with his, but the heat radiating from him scorched her.

  “How do you feel?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “What?” she inquired in a groggy haze.

  “Your head,” he said, reaching out to smooth some hair over the bandage. “How is it?”

  “Fine,” Solace answered, a twinge of sadness pulling at her heart. She dropped her gaze to the floor. He was only concerned with her wounds, when all she wanted him to do was kiss her. Just one kiss, she thought miserably. Just one. But even as she thought it, she knew it wouldn’t be enough.