by Ruth Kaufman
“I don't want to hurt you, but let's say he tightens his grip and you can't scream.” Her hair smelled faintly of roses. He moved his nose closer to her hair to smell the fragrance. He felt her lean back against him slightly, barely noticeably, but close enough that he could feel the length of her against him. His hold on her tightened. His body instantly responded to holding her. Lord, how he wanted her.
One of her hands caressed his arm. He felt the movement even through his tunic. The things he could teach her!
“I... I don't know,” she whispered.
She would die, he thought. And, strangely, it angered him. “You're lucky this man doesn't have a dagger or you would be dead already. Let's say he wants something else.” He bent his head to kiss her neck, just behind her ear, and she gasped in surprise. He turned her face to his, claiming her lips in one hungry move. He kissed her with control, with expertise, trying desperately to keep control of his emotions, to teach her.
But she wasn't reacting like a woman trapped by a rapist. She was reacting like a woman who wanted to be ravished. She groaned slightly, and without removing his lips from hers, Logan encouraged, “What do you do?”
No response. He pulled back to see that her eyes were still closed, her face tilted up towards his, her lips waiting. Logan took the invitation, easily parting her lips with his and thrusting his tongue inside. He reached down to cup her breast, squeezing, feeling the hard nipple beneath her dress. She groaned and thrust her chest into his hand.
Logan could hardly control himself. He ran a palm over her nipple, gently caressing the roundness of her breast. Her mouth tasted like honey; her lips were so soft, so willing! He wanted to taste the rest of her, to let his hands claim her as his own. He ran a hand down her flat stomach, toward the area he knew she wanted him to touch. He felt her thrust her hips and his manhood throbbed against his leggings. “You like this, don't you?” he murmured in her ear. He felt her nod. “Good,” he whispered. “Then when the rapist comes to claim you, you don't have to fight. Just enjoy.”
She stiffened immediately and he was sorry he had been so cold to her. He wanted to touch her, feel her passion. Instead, he prepared for her reaction. She would struggle or try to elbow him. Logan was caught totally off guard when she stomped down on his foot. Hard.
He released her, trying to hide the excruciating pain flaring in his foot.
Solace whirled and stormed away.
“Good!” Logan called out after her. “That's exactly what you should have done in the first place.”
But she didn't stop. He watched her until she turned the corner, heading toward the keep. He had gone too far. He knew it then and he knew it now. He shook his head. She had been in his arms, so close. And she'd smelled so damn good, felt so soft. He wanted more of her. God help him, but he wanted all of her.
Graham grinned as he watched Solace storm into the darkness of the night. For an instant, he envisioned going after her. Instead, he reached inside his leggings and stroked himself.
Chapter Twelve
Baron Edwin Barclay glared up at Castle Fulton from atop his warhorse, cursing for the thousandth time. His long blond hair was tossed about by the wind, the wild strands forming a loose halo around his head, his pleasant features and strong form giving him the appearance of a saint. He narrowed his eyes, staring up at Fulton's tall towers and gatehouse. He cursed again.
“M'lord!” a rider called as he halted his steed beside Baron Barclay's white warhorse. “There is no sign of the drawbridge being lowered. I'm afraid we've failed.”
Barclay's hand was swift and his fist was powerful as he struck the man, sending him rolling off his horse to the ground. “He has failed. He must have been discovered and killed. But I will not fail. I will take Castle Fulton and make Farindale grovel before me.”
The man wiped the blood from the corner of his lip and stood. “Yes, m'lord.”
Barclay ignored him, his cold blue eyes focused on Castle Fulton. “You will fall,” he promised, his burning eyes looking more like those of a demon than of a saint.
Late the next day, Solace found herself standing before the chapel. The echo of indiscernible voices drifted out of the church. Often in times of confusion she found herself standing here, as she had when her father had gone to France to fight and left her in Alissa's care. She wanted to go in and find Father Davis. He had always been there to comfort her and talk with. But she knew he would be busy now with the sick and injured. He wouldn't have time for her. And she needed to speak to someone about... about the emotions Logan aroused within her. She wanted to know why he affected her as he did, what the power he held over her was.
With a heavy sigh, she looked away from the towering steeple and prepared to turn away when a voice called to her. Solace's gaze moved over the entrance, searching for the owner of the voice. It was only when the call came again that she followed it far up into the bell tower. Father Davis stood there, waving down at her, motioning for her to come inside.
With a grin, Solace hiked up her skirts and ran within. She raced up the aisle, moving quickly by the pews, and stopped before the altar to genuflect. She darted to her left, pushing through a door, and climbed the spiraling staircase behind it. The decrepit wooden steps shook beneath her feet as she took the stairs two at a time until she reached the top.
“Easy, child,” Father Davis called to her as the bell tower platform rocked slightly from her enthusiastic entrance. He was an old man with a bald head ringed by snow-white hair. He wore a simple brown robe. His gentle brown eyes lit as they saw her.
She smiled at him as she approached, slowing her run to a walk.
“You look like a gypsy,” he said lovingly, “with that glow in your eyes. I always said those were dangerous eyes.”
“You always said they were beautiful eyes.”
“And they are,” he admitted. “It's been a long time, Solace. Why haven't you come up to see me?”
“I know the injured are growing. I know you're busy,” she said, leaning out the window and staring down at the inner ward. “I didn't want to disturb you.”
“Child,” he said patiently, “you are anything but a disturbance.”
She cast a grin at him. “I've truly missed you.”
Father Davis nodded his agreement. “These godforsaken sieges. It was on a day like this another lifetime ago that I witnessed another siege.”
“My father,” she said solemnly.
“Your father,” he agreed, resting his arms on the ledge beside her and staring out at the cloudy, gray day. “The only good to come from that siege was you. I can't help but wonder about this one, what with your father gone.”
“He'll come back,” Solace said. “And trap Barclay's army and wipe them all out. All we have to do is hold the castle until then.”
Father Davis stared at her for a long time. “This is a messy business, Solace. I want you to promise me that if they enter the castle, you'll run.”
“Run?” she turned to him, shocked.
“Run to safety. I want you out of the castle if they enter. You are heir to Fulton, Solace. It will be you that Barclay is looking for.”
She waved the issue aside with a disbelieving flick of her wrist. “And where am I supposed to run?” she wondered.
Father Davis seized her arm, squeezing it firmly. “To your father, Solace. You must find him. And trust no one. No one, do you hear?”
“You're scaring me,” she admitted, trying to pull her arm free.
“Good. That's exactly what this stubborn little head needs. A good dose of reality.” His eyes grew distant as a faraway look seeped into them. “These days, it's hard enough to find good fighters, let alone men who won't turn their back on you for a gold piece. And gold is something that Barclay has plenty of.”
“Father, are you... feeling all right?” Solace wondered. It was odd for him to be so concerned with matters of warfare and not matters of the spirit.
Father Davis nodded. “Yes,” he said, ru
bbing his bald head. “I'm sorry.”
Solace knew she could not talk to him about Logan, not now. He had too much on his mind. Perhaps the tide was turning. Perhaps now Father Davis needed her to listen to him for a change.
He suddenly seemed so old, so tired. Solace stayed and comforted him, listening to his concerns. By the time she left the chapel an hour later, the sky had darkened. She felt as lost as when she had entered. She needed to talk to someone. Alissa wouldn't understand. Beth wouldn't take the time to listen. She wished her father were in the castle; even though he was seldom home, she had always been able to talk to him.
Then, her eyes lit and her gaze turned up to the battlements. There had always been one person with whom she enjoyed spending time, who was like a brother to her, who always took the time to listen.
She headed toward the walkways, knowing that Peter was on guard duty.
Logan stared out through an arrow slit in the hoarding. The full moon illuminated the scene below in a pale glow. Beyond the moat he could see the siege tower was almost complete. He knew he had wasted enough time, too much time. He had to find Peter before it was too late.
He cursed silently. Solace had become too much of a distraction. Whenever he was with her, all thoughts of his brother simply disappeared. Even when he was alone, despite his resolve to stay focused on Peter, his mind filled with images of holding her in his arms, caressing her tender flesh, kissing her hot mouth.
He glanced over to his left, studying the damaged wall of the hoarding. It looked as though a boulder thrown by the trebuchet had knocked a two-foot hole into the wood.
Suddenly, a faint glow of light drew his gaze, growing brighter with each second. The fool! Logan thought.
As the person rounded the corner, Logan barely had time to notice it was a woman before he threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. The candle fell from her grip and dropped to the wooden floor of the hoarding. Logan smashed his hand down on it, snuffing out the light beneath his open palm. A small wheeze and then a thud broke the silence.
For a long moment, they lay together, his weight pressing her down to the floor. Her breasts pressed against his chest again and again as she gasped for air. Then she began to wriggle, her hips grinding against his own. His body's response to her movement was instantaneous. He pressed a hand over her mouth, hissing, “Shhh!”
Moonlight streaming through the arrow loop washed over the woman's face and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Solace. It was as if his thoughts had conjured her.
The light made her face as pale as the moon itself. He wondered how he could have missed those eyes before; they were so large, so green, so haunting. Even though he had seen her numerous times, he still marveled at the delicate sculpture of her high cheekbones. Her full lips were warm and wet against his hand.
She began to struggle, her small hands pushing at his chest. He removed his hand from her mouth, and she quickly demanded, “What are you doing? Get off of me.” He slid off of her. He watched her sit up, keeping the moonlight to his back so he could see her more clearly.
“What kind of fool are you to come up here with a candle?” he retorted.
Solace was quiet for a long moment. “Logan?” Solace asked. “Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” he snapped.
“Well, I...” Her voice trailed off and she looked away from him. “Never mind.”
“Fire on this hoarding is not a smart idea.”
He watched her large green eyes glance down at the floor. “I... I couldn't see,” she defended, lamely.
“Then you shouldn't be up here,” he said.
She clenched her jaw and began to rise to her feet, but Logan closed a hand over her arm, keeping her before him. “And it's not a good idea to show them that you are here.”
She wrenched her arm away from him. “Their aim is not that good.”
He pointed to a wooden beam above her. An arrow's metal tip was embedded inches from her shoulder. The highly polished shaft shimmered in the moonlight. “At least one of them is good enough,” he said.
She straightened her spine, trying to appear noble in a kneeling position. The moonlight washed over her, bathing her skin in an iridescent glow. There was hurt in her eyes and embarrassment.
Suddenly, she stood, moving away from him, out of the shaft of moonlight. “What are you doing up here?” she wondered.
“I couldn't sleep,” he answered tersely. “What are you doing up here?”
“I was looking for a friend.”
A friend, he thought. A lover? Why else would she be walking the hoardings alone, so late at night? Logan turned away from her to gaze out through the arrow loop at the army below, not wanting her to see the ugliness in his set jaw. “Instead, you found me,” he retorted and was surprised at the bitterness in his tone.
Solace joined him, following his stare. “Can you see the army? What are they doing?”
He stiffened. Her words were tinged with awe and excitement. Instantly, he was transported back thirteen years.
He raced his horse through the emptying streets of the village, heading toward Sullivan's Hill. Lord Farindale's army! The thought sent a forbidden thrill through his body. Just the thought of an army attacking his home should have filled him with outrage, and he knew full well there was a very strong possibility that many people would be killed, but the excitement simmering in his blood burned away all such rational thought. He would finally get to see a real battle! And besides, he had all the faith in the world that his father's knights would be victorious.
Logan jerked the reins and the horse changed direction, taking a quicker route through Millie's Field toward Sullivan's Hill. By now, the land was strangely empty and quiet. There were no children's squeals of delight, no stray geese to scatter. Everyone had moved, into the safety of the castle wards. Only the pounding of his horse's hooves on the ground reached his ears.
Within moments, he could see Sullivan's Hill before him, a large rise in the earth that obscured the road behind it from view. Logan urged his horse on, and the animal raced up the hill. As he came to the top, he was momentarily blinded by the flare of the sun as the blood-red sky splashed across his face. He blinked his eyes clear and lowered his gaze to the road. The sight that greeted him caused his heart to falter.
They were marching in pairs down the road. Knights on horseback in gleaming armor, footmen behind them. Logan became increasingly uneasy as his eyes followed the line down the road, far, far back. He could not make out the end of the line of approaching warriors.
He had never seen so many knights! The excitement withered and died from his spirit. When Peter told him there were five thousand men coming to lay siege to Castle Fulton, he'd thought he understood. But his mind could not, until now, comprehend just how many men that was. I have to get back to warn Father, Logan thought.
He reined in his horse, but in his urgency to return to the castle he jerked too roughly on the reins and the animal spooked, rearing high into the air with a panicked whinny. Logan felt himself sliding from the saddle, and he clutched desperately at the reins as the thin ropes tore free from his grasp. The horse reared higher and Logan lost what little balance he had left, tumbling backward from the saddle. His shoulders hit the ground first, whipping his head sharply back onto a large rock.
Logan shook his head, ridding himself of the painful memory. He struggled to hold the anger he felt toward Solace inside him. He wanted to throttle her, tell her how foolish her excitement was, tell her what she could lose.
Instead, he turned his back to her, his fists clenching. After all this time, he had been positive that he had his emotions under control. But her innocent curiosity made him angry. Didn't she understand what those men were out there to do? Didn't she realize what could happen? Didn't she know they would stop at nothing to enter her castle?
“It's a grand sight,” she murmured.
Logan suddenly grabbed her arm and pushed her back against the wooden wall, pressin
g her there with his body. “A grand sight?” he echoed angrily, his face an inch from her own. “They're here to take your castle from you! You shouldn't be in awe of them! You should hate them with every ounce of your being, with every breath! You should want every last one of them dead for daring to lay siege to your home, for daring to want to take what is yours! But never, ever admire them!” He was breathing hard, his words churning from lips curled in an expression of hate. His hands clutched her shoulders tightly.
“Logan.” The word was almost a plea on her lips.
He removed his trembling hands from her shoulders and took a step back. I should follow my own advice and hate her with every breath, he thought. I do. I hate her. But the thought made him angry because he knew it was a lie. “I told you not to roam the castle alone, especially at night. Someone wants to kill you.”
Solace reached into a pocket in the skirt of her dress, drawing forth a small dagger, its blade shiny and clean. “I have this,” she said hesitantly.
His eyes shifted to the dagger. “What's that, a dinner knife?” he mocked. With a quick swipe of his hand, he easily batted the utensil from her fist, sending it skittering across the hoarding.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. His gaze was drawn unwillingly to her parted lips. Like a sweet flower budding with nectar, they beckoned to him. He could think of nothing but kissing those enticing lips, stealing the honey they hid in their depths. The urge was overpowering. “Damn it,” he muttered and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her roughly against him, claiming her lips with an urgency and need that was not to be denied.
Chapter Thirteen
Swirls of desire coursed through Solace's body as Logan's lips devoured hers. His tongue flitted over her lips, enticing her to open her mouth wider for him. Flames exploded through her body, igniting a passion only he could arouse. She parted her lips and he lunged into her, driving his tongue between her lips, tasting every corner, every succulent recess of her mouth, until she was left breathless.