Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  When she joined him, Logan turned his gaze back to the dancing, twisting flames, flames that ate away at his soul.

  She stood beside him for a long moment, staring at the wavering flames. “When I was young I was never allowed to play in the snow or in the rain. Father said I had too many other, more important things to do,” Solace explained.

  Logan shifted his gaze back to her face. So, now she is making up for the denied pleasures of her childhood, he thought. I wish I had time to do the same. And for a moment, under her guidance, he realized he had.

  “Now he's not here to tell me I can't do it.” She stared down into the hypnotic flames.

  Logan watched the reflection of light shimmer on her face. The soft glow of the flames caressed her skin. She was achingly beautiful. Any man in his right mind would fall hopelessly in love with her.

  Any man except him.

  He seized her arm and pulled her close so she could hear his words distinctly. “I don't want you,” he snarled, his anger directed more at himself than at her. “The only thing that's important is I regain control of Castle Fulton.”

  “I know,” she replied weakly.

  Her soft voice drove him wild with want. Her large green eyes made him desperate to cast aside every vow he had ever made to himself and to his family and love her.

  He gritted his teeth. What was she doing to his mind, to his reasoning? He had to keep a clear head. He had to keep focused on what was important. Instead, all he could see, all he could think about, was Solace. With an anguished growl, he pulled her to him, assaulting her lips with an onslaught of kisses. He reached around behind her, coming up from the rear like a vanquishing army, trapping her tightly against his body. Like an expert in war, he attacked her senses, leaving her powerless against his victory.

  When his kisses traveled to her neck, she rallied her final defenses. “I thought you didn't want me.”

  Her soft-spoken reminder branded him a lying fool. He pulled back sharply to stare into her eyes. “The treasure between your thighs is enough to bring the strongest man to his knees.”

  A broken sob tore loose from her throat. “But what of you?”

  “Is that what you want?” he demanded. “To bring me to my knees?”

  “No,” she whispered. “To bring you to my side, as my ally. I need your help. You know the castle. You know the secret passages.”

  Her green gems shone at him, pleading in their innocence, dark in their want. He could see her desire in them. He knew he would give her the world, the heavens, the stars. But he could not give her his allegiance. The only allegiance he had was to his family. His dead family. But they were gone and she was so very alive. With a groan of despair and indecision, he pushed away from her.

  “Don't fight me, Logan,” Solace insisted. “I'm not your enemy.”

  He stepped away from her. Logan Grey had never been truly frightened of anything in his life. He knew his future, knew his destiny. He knew someday he would regain Fulton. It was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed. But now, staring down at this woman, the woman who should be his enemy, he doubted his destiny. He doubted his duty. He would push it all away to spend an eternity at her side. He had fallen into the same trap as Peter, and he would not let it consume him. “No,” he whispered hotly. “I will not let you destroy everything that I am.”

  “I don't want to destroy you.” She reached for him.

  Logan moved away from her touch.

  “Don't shut me out,” Solace begged. “Don't do this.” Logan heard the anguish in her voice and steeled himself. “Let me help you,” she beseeched him.

  “You can't,” he whispered hoarsely, turning away from her. “No one can.” He knew he had to rid his thoughts of her. His original plan of revenge and reclaiming Castle Fulton depended on him having a clear head. There was one thing he could do to rid himself of the memory of their lovemaking. He headed for the door.

  Logan stood outside the inn, staring at the wooden structure in the moonlight. He didn't need Solace to satisfy him. He had learned long ago one woman was as good as the next. He entered the inn, shoving the door so violently it smacked hard into the wall. All the patrons looked up. Logan paid them no heed; he stalked into the room, taking a seat at the rear of the inn.

  His eyes scanned the small room. The other patrons resumed eating and talking. A woman made her way over to him and boosted herself onto the table, her legs dangling from the side. He didn't need to raise his eyes to know who it was.

  “It's been a very long time, Logan,” the soft voice said. She was an expert in pleasing a man. She had shown him her skills years ago, and he was sure she was still quite proficient at it.

  He nodded. “Marcie.”

  She bent toward him, and before Logan raised his eyes to her face, he saw the swell of her breasts all but bursting from her excruciatingly tight dress. When he raised his eyes, he noted the face from so long ago had barely been changed by time. But something had changed. The eyes he had once found flawless were now but a dull blue compared with the bright green gems haunting his nights. The lips he had so wanted to kiss were now thin and pale compared with the full kissable red lips taunting him in his dreams. Even the face itself was plump and blemished compared with the tanned, flawless complexion that had burned itself into his brain.

  Cursing, he rose, taking her hand in his. He didn't care if she wasn't Solace, he told himself. He dragged her from the inn, but once they got outside, she pulled free.

  “Hey!” she objected. “I'm not some whore you can simply throw to the ground and ravish in the middle of the night.”

  Logan stepped toward her, grabbing the nape of her neck and drew her lips to his. He would prove to himself it didn't have to be Solace, that it didn't much matter who it was. Her lips parted beneath his, and he drove his tongue into her mouth, wanting to prove to himself it didn't matter. But the taste of her mouth wasn't the taste of sweet honey. It was the taste of stale ale and rotten meat.

  Logan pulled away from her, just as she began to wrap her arms around him, to push her hips against his. He stepped farther away from her, horrified at what he learned.

  It mattered. It mattered very much that she wasn't Solace. For the first time in his life, something truly mattered other than his revenge. And it scared him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Solace stared out over the hills, gazing down at a farm at the outskirts of Cavindale. She had walked a great distance that morning, trying to clear her mind. Most of the first snow had melted, leaving behind a soggy, mud-filled land. Despite the bright sun, her feet were cold, her hands red from the biting winds. She pulled her cloak tighter around her neck.

  She wanted Logan's friendship desperately, but he refused to have anything to do with her. Solace knew that it was she who should want nothing to do with him. She needed someone she could depend on. Someone who would be there for her.

  And that wasn't Logan.

  Then why did she feel so empty? She didn't know what to do, who to turn to. She rubbed her red hands as the wind whipped about her body, trying to blow the cloak she wore from her shoulders. It was hopeless. Simply hopeless. Even the elements attacked her, refusing to give her a moment's respite.

  A caw made her lift her gaze to a young tree near where she stood. Logan's black falcon perched on a branch, watching her with his keen eyes. “Go back to your master,” she spat out, then immediately regretted her harsh tone.

  The laughter of children drew her attention, and she turned her head to see a farmer's wife near the small creek washing clothes. Two children were running around behind her, chasing each other, their smiles wide and bright. The scene was so peaceful. She watched them all with a longing she hadn't known she possessed. Children. Assuredly a fine husband, too. A family.

  The falcon cried out again, this time in a shrill, excited voice, and took to the air. Suddenly, the ground seemed to tremble beneath Solace's feet.

  Horses! And they were coming in fast! A tremor of t
repidation raced up her spine as she turned to see two riders approaching her, charging over one of the rises. Solace squinted, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun, straining to see who they were. They wore no heraldry, no colors. It wasn't until the two horses drew closer that she recognized one of the men as Logan's bearded friend, Nolan Ryder. Solace stepped up to greet the man as he reined in his horse. The other man circled behind her.

  “You shouldn't be out here alone, m'lady,” Ryder said.

  Solace scowled at him, remembering the same warning issued from Logan's lips a long time ago. A nervous chill swept through her. She glanced back at the man behind her. “Is something wrong?” she wondered. She hadn't acquainted herself with him and didn't like the way his horse danced anxiously beneath him or the hungry look in his eyes as he gazed at her. She looked back at Ryder.

  “Wrong?” he asked in a strangely businesslike tone. “No, nothing's wrong.”

  “Then what are you doing out here?” she asked, turning once again to look at the man behind her. Her eyes dipped to his waist. He wore a sheathed sword and had a large club in a pouch at his horse's side. She lifted her eyes to see an unsettling smile split his lips.

  Her gaze turned back to Ryder. “What's going on?” she demanded.

  She heard the horse move forward behind her and instinctively stepped away from it. Suddenly, a blinding pain flared in her head. There was a flash of white light before darkness came. She fought the black abyss, even though her body wanted to leap into the peaceful darkness. Her knees gave way and she dropped to the ground, falling hard onto her back. She forced her groggy eyes open. The bright blue sky swayed above her. Too bright. She squinted and rolled onto her side, pushing herself up onto her feet. Her head was pounding and something thick wet the side of her face.

  She turned in time to see the man had dismounted and was approaching her. He tossed the club aside and drew a dagger from his belt. Solace backed away, trying to focus on her attacker, stumbling slightly as she retreated. She bumped into Ryder's horse, and the animal whinnied and pranced away from her.

  Solace turned and desperately clutched Ryder's leg, looking up at him through pain-fogged eyes. “Help me,” she managed to gasp.

  Ryder's black eyes narrowed. “Finish her,” he commanded.

  Laughter floated around Logan, but somehow he felt removed from it. Goliath and Blade were practicing their sword skills in the Great Hall. Logan could only feign interest. After returning from the inn unfulfilled and feeling more torn than ever, he had spent a long and restless night. His gaze continued to drift up the stairs. Where was Solace? Why wasn't she down here watching her men practice their maneuvers? Her men. Even he was thinking of them as hers now.

  “Distracted, old friend?” Alexander wondered, taking a seat beside him at the table.

  “No,” Logan answered, tearing his gaze away from the stairs to look at Alexander.

  Alexander chuckled softly, knowingly. He suddenly found something very interesting in the bottom of his ale mug.

  “Mind your own damn business,” Logan snapped.

  Alexander threw his head back, taking a long drink of his ale, a smile twitching his lips.

  Logan's gaze wandered again to the stairs.

  “She's not there,” Alexander said. “She left awhile ago.”

  “Left?”

  “I saw her leave Cavindale Manor.”

  An irrational fear twisted Logan's stomach. “On foot?”

  Alexander nodded.

  “Grey!” Goliath called, resting his sword point on the floor and leaning toward him. “Are you going to observe all day or do we get a taste of that famed weapon?”

  Logan looked toward the main door leading outside. His skin prickled, setting his nerves on edge.

  Just then Crox came in, and as the door began to swing closed behind him, the falcon swooped in through the narrowing gap and circled the Great Hall, screeching.

  “Logan!” Uncle Hugh screamed almost as loudly as the falcon. “Get that thing out of here!”

  Logan grunted. “Like I have any control over it,” he muttered.

  “Maybe we can shoot it down!” Blade called, raising a bow.

  “Try!” Logan exclaimed. The damn bird would easily evade Blade's arrow, even though he was an accomplished marksman. The falcon was too stubborn to die.

  Suddenly, the bird dove, its claws outstretched for Blade's head.

  “Hey!” the fighter called, ducking, shielding his face with his bow.

  Logan bolted upright, scowling. He hadn't seen the falcon act this way since he had captured the rabbit that very first day he had set eyes on the cursed thing. Something was wrong. The tension strung his body tight as a bowstring. Something was very wrong. Without realizing what he was doing, he suddenly found himself out of his chair, running across the hall.

  Alexander chased after him. “What is it?” his friend called. “What's wrong?”

  Logan opened the door and the falcon swooped out. Logan ran after it, ignoring his friend's concerned questions. He raced into the stables, disregarding the surprised groom as well, and swung himself up onto a horse, bareback. The animal whinnied and circled toward the door as he tugged on its mane.

  “Open the door!” Logan ordered the groom.

  The frightened man shoved the door open, and Logan whipped past him in a blur of speed.

  “Logan!” his uncle called, lumbering uselessly after him.

  As Logan followed the falcon over the rises in the hills, a prickling sensation of impending disaster slithered across his spine. He clenched his jaw, his hands knotted tight in the horse's mane as he rode.

  Logan saw the falcon moving away from him in the distance, a dark speck against the blue sky. He was flying toward the outer reaches of Cavindale. Logan spurred his horse over the last rise that bordered his uncle's lands. The sight that greeted him sent horror spearing through his body.

  Solace stood, wavering before a man who stalked her. The tip of the dagger he clutched winked evilly as the sun glinted off its metal surface. Blood covered the side of Solace's head. Dark, wet blood.

  Ryder was there, sitting atop his horse. He locked gazes with Logan for a long moment before dismounting and running toward Solace's attacker.

  The man lurched toward Solace, the dagger outstretched.

  Ryder's not going to make it, Logan thought. He's still too far away. Logan leaned forward over the horse, urging the animal faster. Faster.

  The man lashed out.

  No, Logan thought. No!

  Solace stumbled back, out of the dagger's range, but turned, and in doing so the dagger sliced her shoulder.

  “Ahhhh!” Logan shouted in dread and anguish as she went down to her knees.

  Ryder seized the man from behind and quickly drew a dagger across his neck.

  Logan leapt from the horse, running to Solace's side, dropping to his knees beside her. She lay still on the ground. Agony and fear swelled inside him. He was afraid to touch her, afraid to move her, afraid she wouldn't respond.

  She groaned and tried to push up onto her hands, but fell weakly to the ground again.

  Logan seized her in his arms, rolling her over into his lap so he could see her face. The left side of her head was covered with blood, plastering her dark hair to her cheek. Logan tried to move some of her limp, wet hair aside to see how bad the wound was, but his fingers trembled fiercely and he couldn't stop their shaking.

  “Logan,” she whispered, drawing his gaze to hers. Her eyes were strangely bright and clear.

  “I'm here,” he said, drawing her close against his chest. It was impossible to steady his frantic pulse.

  Pain flared in her face and her eyes closed.

  “Solace,” Logan demanded, shaking her gently, afraid if she closed her eyes for too long she would never open them again. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

  Her eyes opened wide, the sparkle of tears filling them. “I love you,” she murmured and her eyes closed again.

&nbs
p; Logan felt her body go limp. For a long moment, he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Then he leaned over and gently kissed her lips. As he pulled back from her face, he felt her breath touch his mouth. Relief flooded his body, dousing the fiery anguish burning in him. He leaned his head over hers, rubbing his cheek across her forehead. A tear escaped his closed eyes, trickling down his cheek to mingle with the blood on her forehead. “What have I done to you?” he murmured.

  Logan carried Solace back to Cavindale Manor, cradling her as tenderly as a child in his arms, refusing help from anyone, not letting anyone touch her. As he walked through the fields, his friends joined him, a procession of silent followers.

  He walked the steps to her room like the grim reaper, his face pale, his mouth set in a thin line. His muscles should have ached with the effort of carrying her so far, but they did not; she had been as light as an angel's wings in his arms. He lay Solace on the bed, growling at William as he tried to peer over his shoulder at Solace's wounds.

  Logan gently wiped the drying blood from Solace's face, her cheek, her neck with his tunic. Still, she didn't move. Her eyes remained closed.

  “Logan,” William said softly from behind him, “let Beatrice stitch her wound.”

  Logan's eyes moved to Solace's shoulder. Her clothing was saturated with darkening red liquid. His heart clenched. He didn't want anyone else touching her. He didn't want to move away from her. But he knew he had to. Especially if he wanted her to live.

  “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.