Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  Ryder knew this was true, but none were as skilled as he. He rubbed his hand across his mouth, massaging his red lips. “You say she was last seen in Westhaven?”

  “Two days ago. It shouldn't be hard for such a talented tracker as you to pick up her trail.” She jingled the pouch of gold in her hand slightly.

  Manipulative bitch, Ryder thought. “I'll have to bribe many men. There'll be lodging and food to pay for.” He turned to her. She was a beautiful woman, but there was coldness in her blue eyes that he found even more intriguing. “I need more up front,” he finally said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Fine,” she snapped. “I'll get you what you need. But not a shilling over half of what we agreed to.”

  “I haven't agreed to anything yet.”

  A grin curved her full lips. “But you will.”

  “I don't like killing women,” Ryder professed.

  “I don't give a damn what you like and what you don't. If you want the gold, you'll do as I tell you. Do we have a deal?”

  Ryder pondered the offer. Kill the girl and get the gold. It shouldn't be hard. For the coin she was paying, he could hire a man to do the work and oversee the job himself, still have enough to buy a sturdy steed and a wench when it was all over. A grin curved his lips and he bowed slightly. “You have yourself a deal.”

  A smile darkened the woman's face. She pulled a gold-tipped dagger from her belt. She held it out to Ryder, handle first.

  “What's this?” Ryder wondered, taking the dagger from her, studying the finely etched flowers in the black handle.

  “You'll need it,” she answered.

  Suspicious, Ryder lifted his gaze to meet hers. “For what?”

  “I want her blood on my dagger,” she murmured with a strange glow of excitement in her eyes. “I want you to bring me Solace Farindale's head.”

  Solace sat near the bank of the small stream where they had stopped to rest. They had ridden relentlessly for two days, stopping only when necessary. Logan offered no words of sympathy, no condolences, for the loss of her friends.

  Geoffrey's death had been her fault.

  The thought sent prickles of pain throughout her body. She had grieved for her friends the first day, silently shedding tears as the horses rode. Now, as she stared down at the clear, calm water, she said a silent prayer for them.

  Solace bent to splash water over her face. It was icy cold, but she couldn't resist the refreshing feeling it gave her. She rubbed the water from her eyes and splashed some of the chill liquid over her neck. A cool breeze whipped around her and she shivered slightly. The Yuletide would be here soon. She wondered how Barclay would treat the pilgrimage of monks that would soon arrive at Castle Fulton. Every year, for as long as she could remember, scores of monks had stopped at Fulton on their way to the Abbey of St. Michael for the holiest of celebrations. Her father had always welcomed them with open arms and tables full of food. Barclay seemed to have respect for the pious. Solace remembered how he treated Father Davis. Maybe the monks would fare well with Barclay. For their sake, she hoped so.

  The cloth binding her breasts was tight and itchy. She longed to remove it and had come to the stream to do just that. Solace lifted her tunic and fumbled with the knot at the front of her chest.

  She turned her thoughts to that other man. The mercenary. Logan's friend. Alexander. He must have been the first man she had approached in Westhaven. She now understood how Logan had found out about her plan to recruit an army.

  She pulled the cloth off her chest, freeing her breasts. They tingled, and she rubbed the circulation back into them, groaning softly. It was pure pleasure. She splashed water over them, cleaning her body.

  Logan had an army. The thought rose unexpectedly to her mind. An army. Dare she believe him? Dare she hope she could trust him? But she didn't. Not with his betrayal so fresh and painful in her mind.

  Solace wanted to believe in him. She pulled her shirt back over her torso.

  Feeling a chill at the nape of her neck that had nothing to do with the wind, she turned her head. Logan was leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed over his chest. A shiver shot through her body at his smoldering gaze. She watched the slow, predatory way he approached.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Solace wondered.

  “Long enough to tell you that it's about time you took that ridiculous thing off,” he replied, gently kicking the cloth that had bound her breasts.

  Solace blushed slightly. “You shouldn't spy on people,” she chastised.

  “I wasn't spying,” he said in a husky voice.

  Warmth flooded through Solace at the deep timbre of his voice. She did her best to ignore the traitorous reaction of her body. “Do you really have an army?” she asked quickly, changing the subject.

  His eyes darkened, and Solace felt a door closing somewhere inside him, sealing off some part of his soul. “Yes.”

  “Tell me about it,” she encouraged.

  Logan's gaze swept the distant horizon; his look was lidded and somehow secretive. He crossed his arms over his chest again. “There aren't a lot of men, but they're good. Only the best.”

  “Are there enough to retake Fulton?” Solace wondered, searching for something that would reveal the truth to her. It would be foolish for Logan to lie to her. They would be at Cavindale in a few days. She would see his army for herself.

  “Not yet.”

  His words confirmed her suspicions, and she glanced sharply at him.

  “But soon,” he added quickly.

  Her brow remained furrowed. There was something he was not telling her.

  “It takes time to build an army,” he defended.

  Solace nodded, looking away from him. “We'll attack before winter?”

  Logan wet his lips. “It might be better to wait until spring.”

  Solace objected, “It will give Barclay too much time to settle into the castle.”

  “If winter hits when we're laying siege, we'll lose. It's as simple as that.”

  Solace stood before him, looking deeply into his gray eyes, wishing she felt as sure about the plan as he did. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, pride rose in her breast and she realized she was glad he had returned. His dark hair fanned across his face as a whispered breeze slipped by. She reached up and gently brushed it away from his cheek, unveiling the brand.

  A criminal, her mind said. A man wrongly punished, her heart countered. He saved your life more than once.

  Only to shatter it.

  She dropped her hand. But he caught it in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. There was an intensity in his eyes, a fevered desire that was more than lust, more than truth. It penetrated her skin, soaring through her blood to her spirit. But before she could figure out exactly what it was, he turned away, leaving her alone and more confused than before.

  Solace finished up at the stream before following Logan's path back to the horses. He was nowhere to be seen. Alexander was checking the shoes of his horse. Solace walked up to him, her gaze scanning the forest for any sign of Logan. She chewed her lip gently, debating the best way to question him.

  “What do you want?” Alexander demanded, making her jump slightly.

  “Well,” she said hesitantly, “I was wondering how long you've known Logan.”

  Alexander didn't look up from his work. “Why?”

  Solace straightened her back. “Because I want to know if you're close.”

  “Close enough for me to accompany him to Westhaven to find you,” he retorted.

  “Oh,” she said casually. “I see. So, you're part of his army.” It was a bluff and she didn't know whether it would work or not. But she had to try.

  He finally raised his eyes to her. But they were blank and unrevealing. He didn't say a word, just regarded her coolly.

  Solace scowled at him, unnerved by his distant demeanor. “You should try to smile sometimes,” she snapped. “It might improve your disposition.”

&n
bsp; She whirled and stormed to the other horse to await Logan's return.

  That night, after a hard day's ride, Logan sat with his back against a tall oak, dragging his dagger along a thick piece of wood he had found. His eyes, however, were not on his whittling. They were locked on Solace as she slept. She had kicked free of the blanket, even though the night wind was cold. Golden, red and orange colored leaves lay scattered around her. One red one had entangled itself in a lock of her hair which fanned out beneath her.

  She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. With every ounce of his being he wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to make her the center of his universe. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he got Fulton back. Not until his revenge was complete.

  Besides, what would she want with a man like him? Not even a knight. He found himself absently rubbing the brand on his cheek. A marked man. Could she ever love him? No. Not after what he had done to her home, to her. Logan was sure of it. She was using him to get to his “army.” He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

  His army. The mighty, grand army awaiting him at Cavindale. He shook his head. He would have said anything to get her out of Westhaven. She was in danger, attracting attention to herself. Any fool with two eyes could see the gentle sway of her hips as she walked.

  And Logan was the biggest of all fools. He was allowing himself to care for her again. She was getting in his way. A distraction of the most dangerous sort. That was why he had come a week's journey from Cavindale. Two weeks of valuable time away from his mission. Time that could have been better spent making contacts, gathering much needed allies. From what he had learned before leaving Cavindale, Barclay was not a well-liked man. Logan had known that years ago when he'd allied himself with Barclay, but they had gotten along well enough. He had trusted Barclay. It seems I am no good at putting my trust in the right place, he thought. He vowed not to make that mistake again.

  Solace turned her head, calling his attention to her. Her soft lips parted slightly and something inside Logan softened. The joy he saw for a moment on her face when she knew it was him was worth the time he had taken from his revenge, and more. He watched the slight rise and fall of her chest, and suddenly had the strongest desire to see the unbound treasures lying beneath that tunic. The leggings she wore curved around her hips and thighs, arousing him every time he glanced at her.

  Logan cursed silently and looked away. Too dangerous a distraction, he reminded himself.

  Suddenly, a hand clamped over his shoulder and Logan whirled, bringing the dagger up.

  “Whoa!” Alexander cried, backing up a step.

  Grumbling, Logan lowered the dagger. Damn, he hadn't even heard him coming. Too much of a distraction, he thought again.

  “A little jumpy today, hey, my friend?” Alexander wondered, squatting beside him.

  Logan scraped the dagger across the wood again.

  “We should be at Cavindale the day after tomorrow,” Alexander said, his eyes shifting to Solace. “I like her,” Alexander murmured after a quiet moment. “She had the courage to tell me I should smile more.”

  Logan almost laughed out loud. “You mean she didn't tremble under your glowering?”

  “Tremble?” Alexander rumbled. “She didn't even blink. She must be used to dark looks by now.” He cast a telling glance at Logan. “She's worth giving up a lot for.”

  “She's dangerous,” Logan insisted.

  “Dangerous?” Alexander echoed in disbelief.

  “Because she is worth giving up a lot for. I don't trust her.”

  “Don't, or can't?”

  “I don't even trust you,” Logan replied.

  “Stop flattering me,” Alexander said.

  “We've been through a lot together,” Logan said. “You've got morals and as much as you'd hate to admit it, you have honor.”

  “And she doesn't?”

  “I don't. I would do anything to get my revenge. I can't help thinking if it were me in her position, there would be no way in hell I would trust me. Not after what I did to her.”

  “She's not you. Maybe she has more confidence in you.”

  Logan stood up, his eyes darkening. “Maybe she shouldn't.”

  Alexander shrugged. “She'll find that out when your army of farmers and ale makers welcomes us home, won't she?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Logan rode his stallion into Cavindale with Solace sitting sidesaddle in front of him. He was pensive and quiet, waiting for her warmth and growing excitement to change into bitter hatred. He had told himself he wanted to tell her the truth about his army, but he couldn't. Not until they reached Cavindale. Now that they were here, his dry mouth wouldn't say the condemning words.

  He could feel the anticipation simmering inside her. She didn't want to believe him, he knew, but something inside her was trusting and naïve, and very foolish.

  As they approached Cavindale Manor, Alexander spurred his steed on ahead of them.

  Solace craned her lovely neck. “Where's the army?” she wondered, scanning the surrounding hills.

  Was that anxiety in her voice or was she mocking him? Logan wondered if she even knew which it was.

  The roads remained empty.

  Logan knew he had to tell her. He couldn't let her go on believing. She would find out soon enough. And then it would be too late to redeem himself. It was his only chance. “Solace,” he began.

  “Over there?” she asked, pointing to a slight rise.

  “Solace...” Logan shook his head, but she seemed oblivious. She slid off the horse. Her feet barely struck ground before she proceeded toward the rise on a run.

  He couldn't move for a long moment. He hung his head. He would hear her disappointment soon, the hurt in her voice.

  “Oh, Logan,” she sighed.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he dismounted and walked to her side, expecting to see sorrow in those brilliant green eyes, expecting to see disappointment. “I wanted to tell you...” he started to say as he came to stand beside her.

  She launched herself into his arms, her hands encircling his neck. “It's wonderful!” she murmured.

  Logan's eyes swept the valley before him to see tent upon tent cradled between the rises. Men and horses milled about everywhere. Weapons of all kinds sparkled in the sunlight.

  Logan's mouth dropped and he gasped, “My God.”

  Solace lurched forward, running to greet her army. An army Logan knew nothing about. He reached out to stop her, trying to grab her arm, but she was too far away. What if it is Barclay's army? Logan wondered fleetingly. But he knew it wasn't. There were no colors on the tents; there were no banners flapping in the breeze.

  His eyes scanned the tents again. There was nothing. No heraldry, no crests, nothing.

  Suddenly, a large bellow resounded across the valley. Logan turned and drew his weapon instinctively.

  Solace reached the bottom of the small hill when she heard the war cry and turned to see a giant man racing toward Logan, a sword raised high above his head. He had tight curly red hair crowning his massive head. His thick arms, covered with numerous scars, bulged with muscle. Solace gasped as Logan and the man collided, and she swore the ground beneath her feet trembled with the impact. She could see the strain in Logan's corded neck as he locked swords with the man, holding him at bay.

  She bolted back up the hill.

  Logan almost fell over as the giant pushed off with his sword. Then the huge man grumbled and swung. Logan ducked and Solace's heart stopped as the blade barely missed his head.

  She started forward, but an arm on her wrist stopped her. She glanced up to see Alexander. He had a strange grin on his face as he watched the two men fight.

  “Help him,” Solace begged Alexander. Logan's friend didn't move.

  Logan glanced at her and the giant man punched him in the jaw, sending him back onto his bottom. Logan raised his sword in time to block the next blow. He rolled out of the way as the giant swung again. The g
iant's sword lodged in the earth as Logan jumped to his feet to face the man.

  Solace scanned the field for a weapon.

  With a growl of rage, the giant man ripped his sword from the earth, sending a clump of dirt flying through the air. Logan sidestepped to the right as the giant swung. He deflected the next blow, losing ground to his opponent.

  Alexander relaxed his grip and Solace pulled free. She ran to Logan's horse and flipped the backpack open. She rifled through the leather pouch, searching around a blanket, finally grabbing the large stick Logan had been working on.

  As she turned, she saw Logan and the giant man were battling on the top of the rise. A crowd of spectators had gathered around them. Determined to help Logan, Solace slowly climbed the hill, careful to stay out of the giant's sight.

  The giant lurched forward and Logan caught the blow, grabbing the giant's arm.

  Solace approached the giant from behind, the stick raised.

  Logan's eyes locked on the raised log and the giant kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying back just as Solace slammed the wood over the giant's head with all her might. He toppled forward to his hands and knees.

  For a long moment, all was quiet. Solace ran to Logan's side. “Are you all right?” she asked, helping him to sit up.

  A crooked grin curled Logan's lips as Solace helped him to rise. He gazed into her eyes and ran a gentle finger across her jaw. “You're getting pretty good at that,” he murmured before turning from her to approach the giant. “You must be slipping,” he told the big man. “This is the first time I've beaten you.”

  The giant raised his eyes to Logan and Solace saw the trickle of blood from a cut on his head. “Ya didn't tell me you had an accomplice.”

  Logan offered the giant his hand.

  “Goliath this is Solace,” Logan introduced. “Goliath is a friend.”

  “A friend!” Solace repeated in disbelief.

  “I tried to stop you,” Alexander murmured.

  “Do you always greet friends like this?” Solace asked with chagrin.

  “Goliath and I do. We always have. Ever since we met on the battlefield.”